#Bless US All Tee Shirts

[rememberwren]

/•Harmless Fun 2•\

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Further Parts

You find out the walls are thin in your new apartment.

Roommate!ghoap/fem!reader

*

It’s the hottest day of the month when you move in. If you use that as an excuse to wear your shortest pair of shorts, that’s all it is—an excuse, flimsy as the floaty, sleeveless, polyester top that skims your navel. Even dressed light, the sweat drips down the small of your back and slicks your palms as you work on moving boxes into the elevator and up to the top floor. Every step inside is a blessing, the air conditioning bursting over you, sweet icy bliss.

Johnny opens the door. He’s wearing a tee shirt stretched thin across his chest and a pair of loose cotton pants. He leans against the doorway, reminiscent to how he had the day he showed you the apartment. You had thought he was showing off then, but now you think that maybe it eases the weight off his leg.

“Well, what a bonnie sight you are. Here, let me.” He tries to take the box from you.

“No, I’ve got it—“

“I insist—“

“Really—“

“Lass, I will hit you with my cane—“

You gape at the threat. The box comes loose from your hands and he tucks it easily under one arm, giving you a smug raise of his brows. “I’m disabled, but I’ll have to be dead before I let a pretty girl carry her own furniture.”

“Consider yourself iced,” Simon says, appearing as if from thin air. His arms are bared by his tank top revealing one impressive sleeve of tattoos—as if he wasn’t painfully attractive enough to begin with. Down below his chin is a black surgical mask, ready to be tugged over his mouth and nose out in public. “No moving furniture, Soap.”

“You’re worse than those nurses at the clinic,” Johnny chides, picking up the freshest step of what must be a long, frustrating dance between them both. “I know my own limits better than anyone, don’t I?”

“Wrong,” Simon chuckles darkly. He takes a step closer to Johnny and puts a hand on the nape of his neck, calloused thumb moving along the smooth muscle of his trapezius. He stage whispers: “I know you better than you know yourself, Johnny-boy.”

He takes the box from Johnny’s lax hands. Both of you stare after his figure as Simon turns to walk the box to what will be your bedroom from now on. Judging by the heavy, heated look in Johnny’s eye, you aren’t the only one affected by Simon’s display.

“Did he…call you Soap?”

#

“It was his callsign in the military,” Simon explains, patiently waiting for you to find the perfect grip on a box of your toiletries. He has three boxes—of your book collection no less—stacked in his arms with all the ease of Jenga pieces. But you know these won’t come tumbling down. Heaving the box into your arms, you shift it to your hip and wipe the hair from your forehead.

“What’s a callsign?”

“A simple identifier that can be used over radio or transmitter. Safer sometimes than using names.”

“What was your callsign?”

“Ghost.”

“Ghost.” You roll the name around on your tongue as you both walk into the building, the doorman politely holding the door open for you both. You glance at Simon out of the corner of your eye, the mask drawn up to hide his identity. “You know—yours makes a little sense. But Soap?”

The corner of Simon’s eyes crinkle. “You’ll have to ask him about it. He loves to talk about himself.”

With Simon’s help, you are able to empty the moving truck by early evening, just in time to enjoy the coldest shower of your life (the first of many in your new apartment, you’re sure). The water pressure is excellent, beating down on your flushed skin until your teeth chatter and you turn the temperature to something less punishing.

By the time you walk into the living room, convinced you’ll have to make a run for groceries of your own (or just Door Dash something—but fuck if that wasn’t an allowance in your joyless budget), the smell of pizza reaches your nose.

Johnny and Simon are on the loveseat, an open pie on the coffee table in front of them. There are a few toppings you’d have to pick off, but nothing that wasn’t salvageable. Simon is freshly showered as well, hair a shade darker blond than usual, the ends curling just a bit.

“First dinner in the new place, on us,” Johnny explains, passing you a slice. He scoots over—clearly expecting you to take the narrow spot between him and Simon, though that’s the last place you would have thought to seat yourself.

“Thank you,” you say, touched. Simon slips off of the couch, giving you plenty of room. Your heart plummets for a moment—except he’s only gone to grab you a beer. But even after cracking it open with his bare hands for you, he sits in the armchair closest to Johnny and leaves the couch for you both. Sheepish, you say: “Sorry I stole your spot.”

“You didn’t,” he says quietly, sipping from his own bottle. Then he hesitates and reaches out, stretching one long arm to clink bottles with you and Johnny. He mutters, not unkindly: “Cheers.”

#

That night, you can’t sleep. The first night in a new place is always strange. You had hoped that the physical exertion of the day would tire you out, but your brain felt wired, eyes floating around the room to take in the new space and commit it to memory. You’re still awake when you hear the quiet hum of the television shut off in the living room. You hear quiet voices—a door open and shut. A shower runs for a while.

If today was any indication, you truly had high hopes that you would get along well with Simon and Johnny. Perhaps you could even grow to be friends and not just roommates. And maybe eventually you wouldn’t be thirsting after them like a dog—

—a sound on the other side of the wall, the one separating your bedroom from theirs. Your breath catches. Surely you had misheard. But then it comes again: a throaty, masculine groan. Immediately you flush hot all over, rolling onto your belly and burying your face in your pillow. Surely they aren’t—?

There’s a rumble of voices, just loud enough for you to make out Johnny’s name, and it is answered by a filthy, breathy moan. They are. Holy shit. Your hot roommates are having sex in the next room.

Your cunt aches, glaringly empty. You’re not going to do anything about it. That would be insane, wouldn’t it? To touch yourself while your neighbors fucked on the other side of the wall? But God, your body had no sense of morals, not even a daydream of right or wrong. Your nipples had hardened into aching points begging for the dextrous touch of a lover, your entire sex throbbing and flushed. Perhaps you should grab your earbuds and give them some privacy, but instead you find yourself holding your breath, desperate for the next noise.

What exactly are they doing, you wonder? You find it hard to even imagine the two of them kissing, though Simon had leaned in and placed a peck on Johnny’s lips before going downstairs to help you with your furniture. You’d never had a very good imagination. But judging by the sound of skin on skin from the next room, they are doing far more than kissing, and the thought has you clenching your thighs together.

You have no way of knowing how long it lasts. It’s like a fever dream, your head hot and floaty whenever one of Johnny’s moans is answered by Simon’s deep, throaty chuckles. There comes a strangled shout, hastily bitten off (or covered, perhaps by a hand or smothered by a lover’s mouth) and you have to bury your face in your pillow all over again in case any stray, desperate noises come floating out of you, too.

Now you’re free, one hand cupping your own breast through the flimsy tank top you sleep in and the other slipping into your panties. The angle is all wrong thanks to you being on your belly, but there’s no penetration needed tonight, not when a few wet swipes over your aching clit has you climbing that blissful peak and shattering into pieces, all your breathy sounds lost to your pillow.

Rolling onto your back, you suck in air, panting into the darkness. You whisper: “Fuck.”

You’re so screwed, though not nearly screwed as you would like to be.

[lovebugism]

oh my god,,,, gurl!!!! THE CUSTOMER'S ALWAYS RIGHT fic is sooo good 😫 my heart literally breaks every time I read this story. Thank you for blessing us with this masterpiece <3

THE CUSTOMER'S ALWAYS RIGHT | square one

summary: eddie makes a confession that's been weighing heavy on his heart. you realize that your future with him is haunted by ghosts from your past. pairing: virgin!eddie munson / f!reader word count: 16.3k warnings: hopper, steve, and robin being the reader defense squad, hints at reader's previously poor mental health, mentions of abusive and toxic relationships, a banshees of inisherin quote, b*lly h*rgrove because he needs a warning. (pretend any typos don't exist pls and thank u!) a/n: guess who's back, back again? ✨✨ i'd apologize for disappearing for a month, but then there'd be apologies in all my notes, so just know that i'm sorry every time i disappear unexpectedly, okay? 🥲 thanks for being so patient! please enjoy this long-awaited installment of tcar ily <3

( PREVIOUSLY ) | ( SERIES MASTERLIST ) | ( NEXT )

Eddie’s got a 1986 Van Halen tape in his boombox and a baby pink heart stitched into the fabric of his shirt. He’s the least metal he’s ever been, but he couldn’t be happier.

You keep your promise to him to patch up his torn Hellfire tee. If anything, you use the absentminded assurance as your excuse to see him again. The night you shared before, all but baring your scarred souls underneath glittering stars and streams of pale moonlight, hadn’t satiated your hunger for him. Eddie left you craving in a way you weren’t used to before — a yearning to be close to him that went beyond the boundaries of physical intimacy.

It was a simple sort of longing. It was a homesickness. A sense of nostalgia for a love you’d never felt before.

You wish you could wear Eddie’s adoration for you like a blanket, wrap yourself in the hand-stitched quilt of many colors and bundle it tighter around your shoulders when the cold comes. You want his softness to hold you in a way you’ve never been able to hold yourself.

You feel swaddled in it, succumbed and cloaked and at peace in all his tenderness. You’ve never been so at ease, so blissfully comforted by the presence of another human being. And Eddie feels all of that, every ounce of warmth you feel, because it pours out of you like rays of sunshine and bathes him in shades of gold.

He didn’t think you could get any softer than you had been that night at Skull Rock, until you were nestled in his unmade bed the next morning. You curled your legs underneath you as you weaved the needle and thread through the tear in his t-shirt, eyes squinted and tongue poking out the side of your mouth in an astute concentration. 

All of the sudden, you were marshmallow fluff and honey on toast — made of all things sickly sweet that made his stomach feel suddenly full. 

You finish mending the rip in record time and beam when he wears the heart-shaped stitching with pride. The rest of the day thereafter was spent in the tiny confines of his one hundred square-inch bedroom. From there, the both of you came to the silent understanding that you didn't want to spend another day apart.

The weekend had given you a limited sort of freedom, allowed you to pretend that you lived in a world with no responsibilities or anything other than Eddie Eddie Eddie, but adulthood made you no such promises. He had a side job to do to keep himself afloat, and you had a cat that thought it was the end of the world anytime you were gone for longer than a night. Both of those things together meant that the eve of parting was ultimately inevitable.

Every second you spent away from Eddie felt like you were grieving.

You mourned for him in the darkness of your apartment and tried to pretend you weren’t half a person in the cat food aisle at Melvald’s.

You tried to lessen the unbearable distance with phone calls, though it didn’t come nearly as close as feeling his fingers thrumming imaginary beats on your thigh or his heartbeat thudding against your ear. 

But his voice filled the emptiness of your one-bedroom apartment and the Eddie Munson shaped hole he’d left just behind your ribcage, and that was good enough for you.

When you weren’t with him, you were roaming around your apartment like some kind of ghost, with the phone tucked between your ear and shoulder and the rotary clutched in your free hand. 

You cook yourself dinner with him ranting about his day in your ear. You hold the receiver closer to Bowie and force him to hear her purr when she’s being exceptionally cute. He falls asleep some hours later to the sound of your soft snores, and you wake up the next morning to the sounds of his.

It was pathetic, truly.

You’d be gagging at how sweet it was if it wasn’t happening to you.

But it was.

Every ounce of this sticky sweet goodness was yours, and it tasted just like honey on your tongue. 

It was the honeymoon stage times a thousand, all rose-colored and reflecting light — your own personal utopia. It brought with it a heavenly sort of refuge, a bubble of peace you never wanted to pierce.

Eddie basks in the serenity of it all when he finally has you with him again. You’re in his lap, on his lips, and all over him, but it still isn’t quite close enough. He doesn’t think he’ll be satisfied until you’ve successfully melted with him and your limbs have entwined with his like tree roots, destined to remain that way for the next couple of centuries or so.

And it’s weird because he could hardly handle living in such a tiny trailer with Wayne, let alone stomach more than a couple hours with the guys from Hellfire all in one place. But you? You entered his life all at once and now he can’t remember what it was like without you.

He doesn’t particularly want to, if he’s being real honest.

It’s why he’s always less enthused about letting you leave when you’ve both got responsibilities dragging you apart. He begs you to stay with him a few hours more, pleads for you to stick around while he makes a quick deal or an emergency pick-up when Dustin Henderson calls and says he needs a ride. 

And you promise you’ll wait on him there, because he makes it virtually impossible to say no to his rosy pouted lips and chocolate syrup puppy dog eyes.

That’s when you run into Wayne for the first time, when Eddie’s out and you’re making breakfast for when he comes back.

French toast and scrambled eggs sizzle on the stove and warm the kitchen with all its cinnamon confections. It makes the man’s face screw up in confusion when he steps inside the trailer because he’s never known Eddie to cook a day in his life. And then his eyes find you — a young, pretty girl all alone in his kitchen with his nephew’s van gone from the drive.

“…Who the hell are you?” he wonders gruffly and pops a cigarette between his lips, totally unbothered.

He’s got no reason to be intimidated by the stranger in his trailer. He’s more confused than anything else, and he’s got this contorted look on his face like he’s blaming the exhaustion from the graveyard shift for his vision of you.

“Oh— my god,” you mumble through the mouthful of whipped cream you’d squeezed into your mouth moments prior. You fight to swallow it all down. “Uh. Hi. I’m, um… I’m Eddie’s... girlfriend?”

It sounds like you’re lying. 

In some ways, it feels like you are. 

You’ve been spending more time in his trailer than in your own home, but it’s not like either of you has motioned to make anything official just yet.

He eyes you with a tired and heavy gaze, eyes as dark and as infinite as Eddie’s. The man gives you a once-over and then chuckles lowly to himself as he tosses his corduroy jacket onto the back of the recliner and his tin lunchbox to the coffee table.

You shift awkwardly on the other side of the room. “…What is it?”

“When Eddie said he was talkin’ to a pretty girl on the phone every night, I thought he was lyin’,” he admits through hearty chuckles. 

It makes you laugh too. 

There’s little talking after the fact, besides you offering him some of the breakfast on the stove and him joking that you should come around more often.

You recount the story to Eddie when he returns, utterly mortified about the whole thing. You’re even more embarrassed when the boy finds amusement in your horror and starts to chuckle to himself — not exactly at you, but not with you either.

He laughs louder when you swat at him for it. You clamber on top of him, mattress squeaking mattress under your weight, as you demand him to stop through giggles of your own.

Somewhere down the line, both of you stop caring. 

Neither of you is quite sure where the conversation stopped and ended, only that when you started kissing, you couldn’t stop. 

They weren’t innocent little pecks, but they weren’t sloppy and full of tongue either. You press your lips together with the intent of being as close as you can to the other, like you haven’t spent every second you could together.

Neither of you will be satisfied until you’ve swallowed each other whole.

And you, you’ve got this ache for him. A swirling of want that’s constantly rippling in your belly for this boy. He’s just not usually under you when it’s happening — and now that he is, the crackling embers have burst into white and blue flames behind your sternum.

Your lips click each time you part, a lewd noise you never want to stop hearing. The sound of it gives you goosebumps, like a good song you’ve just heard on the radio. You wonder if Eddie can feel them as his hands start to creep up beneath your shirt and find purchase along your waist. 

You open his mouth with your own and sneak your tongue inside just as you roll your hips over his lap.

It’s the most forthcoming either of you had been in your three-day stint of nonstop talking. Even when you were over at the trailer, totally alone and pressed underneath him, it was otherwise completely innocent. You just make out like a couple of teenagers until one of you wants to make a food run or offers to roll a joint. 

And you like that. You like that he doesn’t expect anything from you, but it does get a little agonizing when you’ve tried every attempt to give yourself to him and he just won’t take it.

Like usual, Eddie tenses when he feels you grinding on top of him — partly because he feels a tingle at the base of his spine when he gets instantly half-hard, but mostly because he knows there’s nothing he can do about it.

He keeps preaching to himself it’s not the right time, it’s not the right time, it’s not the right time — but he’s got no idea when it’ll ever be the right time, if it’ll ever be the right time, or if he’ll know it when it comes.

Because he’s had you to himself for days now — no Wayne, no responsibilities, no pressure — with his tongue rutting against yours and your hands fidgeting with the metal buttons of his jeans, and it still doesn’t feel good enough. Eddie doesn’t feel good enough.

He’s not sure if he ever will.

And it’s not you. God, it’s the farthest thing from you. As far as Eddie’s concerned, he’s never had more fun with anyone else. He’s never laughed harder with anyone else. He’s never felt as comfortable with anyone as he’s starting to feel around you. So he’s not entirely sure why he finds the rest of it so hard. 

Eddie wants you so bad that the ache of all his yearning is palpable. It’s like the weight of it is what’s keeping him from you — unstoppable force, immovable object, blah, blah, blah. 

Either way, it leaves him entirely unable to take things further with you, however much he wants to. There’s something in his way and it’s him. 

Your heartache is his own when he has to pull away from you.

“You okay?” you ask him with wide eyes and swollen lips, always so concerned for him.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good,” he’s quick to assure you. He’s still breathless when he fidgets beneath you, trying to prop himself up on his headboard without rubbing his half-hard cock against your thigh.

When he succeeds, he musters a smile that shakes at the edges. “It’s just… you know, not everything… It doesn’t have to be about sex, you know?”

He makes himself as soft as possible for you when he says this. He gets rid of all the usual teasing lilts that tend to lurk on his tongue as the words spill from his mouth. The last thing he wants to do is hurt your feelings or, in some roundabout way, make you think you’re the problem. 

He just wants you to know that that isn’t why he’s been wanting to spend so much time with you. There was never an ulterior motive with him other than all the adoration he holds in his hands and his mouth for you.

The strike of hurt that flashes across your face is obvious to only Eddie, who’s spent enough time mapping out your features to know what twitches are ones of discontent. The slight frown that dips between your brows when they scrunch together for half a second comes like a stroke of lightning. It’s a brief flash of purple in the sky that leaves so quickly that it makes you wonder if it was ever there at all.

You fidget on his lap, not resting as comfortably upon him as you had been just moments before. “Oh…” you murmur through soft, jutted-out lips. “Sorry. I, I didn’t—”

“No, it’s not— that’s not what I—” he tries to assure over your insecure stammers, but succeeds only in tripping over himself in return. He cuts himself off with a breathy laugh, shaking his head while his fingers fidget on your hips. “That’s just not what this is about for me, you know? I just… I wanna spend time with you.”

It’s easily the softest thing he’s ever said to you — to anybody, for the matter — and the marshmallow sweetness of it all wraps around you like wisps of pink cotton candy.

Your apprehensiveness twists into something lighter, a pair of twinkling eyes and a bashful smile.

“Oh,” you hum again, obviously more pleased than before. “That’s nice…”

“No one’s ever said that to you before, have they?” Eddie asks you.

He tries to muster a crooked smirk as the words leave his mouth, but he’s got a feeling he already knows the answer. Hearing you affirm his suspicions will do nothing more than make him angry at all the assholes that had you before him, at everyone who taught you that you were good for sex and hardly a thing else. 

It makes him wish that he’d gotten to know you sooner. Maybe then you’d understand that he’d be happy just holding you like this and never doing anything more.

You don’t answer him verbally, just shake your head with your lips pursed softly to the side. You look more innocent than anything he’s ever seen before, even with your lipstick smeared on your chin. 

He’s still not quite sure how someone could be so reckless with such a fragile thing — to watch you break and not spend the rest of time grieving to know that you’ll never be quite the same again. 

There’s a primal instinct that swims in him then, an urge to keep you in his arms and locked in the confines of his trailer forever and ever. He wants to keep the wolves of Hawkins, Indiana from ever getting a whiff of you again. It’d be more than they deserved, anyway.

“God, you have got to get better boyfriends, sweetheart,” Eddie tells you with a playful lilt in his voice despite the anger simmering in his belly.

“Isn’t that what you are?” you giggle.

His world stops.

“Huh?”

You tense at his tenseness. Only when he’s gaping at you does the weight of your words dawn on you. “…Huh?”

The awkward moment goes as quickly as it arrives, chased out by the fit of laughter the two of you are quickly thrown into. Your entwining chuckles rise like smoke in his tiny bedroom and then settle back over you like a fuzzy blanket.

“Are you asking me to be your boyfriend, babe?” Eddie teases.

“Of course not,” you scoff. “Babe.”

“Oh, right, of course not. That would be way too crazy considering we’ve spent, like, every day together and have made each other come… what is it now? Twice?”

“Three times for me,” you correct with you a smile. “You need to catch up, Eddie Spaghetti.”

“Another time?” he offers with a scrunched nose.

“Whenever you want.”

Eddie is grateful for your lack of urgency, even more so for the kiss you press to the tip of his nose. 

You peck him on the lips after — once, twice, and then a thiiird, drawn out time — before moving on to his chin and jaw and neck. Whatever part of him you can reach (which is just about everywhere, considering the vantage point you’ve got sitting on his lap), you sprinkle a kiss to it.

It’s an innocent sort of affection, the kind that makes him wonder how it ever came to be in the first place. What evolutionary measures led to this, to you pressing your lips to his skin to show how much you care about him? Eddie doesn’t really want to know the answer, he’s just grateful that it happened in the first place.

You’re so good at it, loving on him. You’re always so kind and so gentle in your way and it makes him feel guilty. There’s a lingering feeling of undeservedness that settles something heavy at the base of his stomach. How could he ever expect you to be so open with him when he hasn’t done the same for you?

A heavy sigh rattles in his deflating chest. 

“I gotta tell you something, sweetheart,” he cautions when your lips smack against the thrumming pulse below the left side of his jaw. “Something you’re not gonna like…”

A billion things run through your head all at once. When you part from him, he can see the rollercoaster of emotions each one of them puts you through.

Your first instinct is that he’s got some kind of partner he’s kept hidden from you until now. It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve gone steady with a guy who’s then told you about some other girlfriend he had — or, god forbid, a wife. 

But then you realize that you surely would’ve had some sort of inkling if that were the case. There’s no way Eddie would’ve been able to spend every second of his day with you — and then another several hours on the phone when you had to leave — without someone else coming along to burst your bubble. 

And so far, there haven’t been any angry wives, just the occasionally confused Uncle Wayne.

Then you start thinking he’s about to tell you he wants an open relationship. The you’re great, but I’m just not ready to settle down yet spiel that you’ve heard a thousand times before. Usually when people say that, they mean that they just don’t want to settle down with you.

You’ll become some douchebag’s fuck toy for a month or more until the girl next door comes around. He gets her knocked up in record time, his family forces him to marry her, and they begin their cushy lives together in the center of some cul-de-sac — really settle down, as it were.

You’re not sure if you could take that from Eddie. You could grin and bear if it you had to, take whatever attention he’s willing to give you because who cares if he’s giving it to someone else on the side? You’re just not sure how long you’d last like that.

And then you start to worry that he’s just going to break up with you entirely — it’s not you, it’s blah, I’ll always care about blah, please don’t tell anyone about how we blah-ed. That whole talk. 

All the rest of your worries stop mattering so much because you’ve only just called him your boyfriend. And here he goes, about to end it all before it can really even start. That’d be just your luck, you figure.

“Did I do something wrong?” you caution after a few moments of heavy silence.

Eddie’s bleeding heart wrenches at your words, at how sad they sound spilling from your mouth, and how you immediately think that it’s got something to do with you. 

He shakes his head feverishly in response. “No. No, it’s not you. You’re… you’re perfect.”

“Okay…” you concede quietly, voice trembling with a lingering disbelief.

“I just… I haven’t been totally honest with you, you know?” the boy admits before his glimmering chocolate eyes fly open and he corrects himself quickly. “And I haven’t lied to you or anything. Not— Not exactly. I just… I wanna be honest with you… As your boyfriend and all.”

You can tell by the sudden weight in his voice that he’s serious. But the fine coat of glowing rose that splotches Eddie’s cheeks after calling himself your boyfriend for the first time makes you melt. 

You smile to yourself and start to trace the heart you’d stitched into his t-shirt with your finger.

“Yeah. I mean, we are about to spend our two minutes anniversary together and everything.”

“Exactly,” the boy huffs out a laugh. It lacks its usual jest, though, because of the ice-cold anxiety that drenches him from head to toe and makes his hands and feet go numb.

His fingers tremble where the rest on your waist, trying and failing to find a comfortable position there because, right about now, Eddie feels the most awkward he’s ever felt.

“I just want you to know that I… I’ve never done this before,” he confesses quietly and with his eyes squeezed shut. He prays that he doesn’t have to be any less vague than that.

Your face twists in confusion — your brows furrow and your nose twitches and your head tilts to the side like a puppy. And then you’re laughing, a soft little thing of a giggle that normally makes his heart sing, though now he can only feel it breaking.

“What…?” he tries to scoff out his own chuckle. “Why are you laughing?”

“Because you’ve already told me that, dummy. That you’ve never felt this way before…” you answer, reciting his own words back to him. You haven’t yet forgotten how he’d looked at you as you said them, pale skin made silk under the moonlight while he sparkled beneath the beams of it and his love for you. 

“No, it’s… it’s more than that,” he corrects. “I’ve never even had a girlfriend before you. Or anything really.”

You still don’t seem to understand. You just look on at him with uncertainty. 

A quiet “okay?” tumbles from your mouth entwined with a nervous giggle, because you don’t understand what’s got him so somber. He’s never dated anyone, you’ve fucked half of Hawkins — these are just facts that went unsaid before now. 

And maybe it’s because you’ve never been with a virgin before, but the thought that Eddie might be one hasn’t seemed to cross your mind at all. 

It’s that exact thought that scares him. 

Because if it hasn’t already, maybe it’s because you’re avoiding it altogether. And why would he ever be the exception?

He opts to bite the bullet and hopes that his heart doesn’t get broken after.

“I’m a virgin. Okay? I’m a complete, total, proper adult virgin,” he blurts with a brazenness he’d previously lacked when it came to all this. “And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before now, but I didn’t, because I liked you and I was scared. So if you wanna yell at me or if you wanna break up with me before our five-minute anniversary, I totally get it, but I should probably let you know that it’ll rip my little virgin heart to shreds, so…”

Eddie ends his nervous ramble with a trembling, lopsided smile that does little to ease the leaden tension he’s just manufactured in the four walls of his bedroom.

He can’t seem to gauge your reaction after the fact, which is strange because he always knows what you’re thinking. 

He knows when you’re laughing with him and not at him. You scrunch your nose and giggle when he tells you a funny joke, then tilt your head back and cackle when he trips over the punchline. 

He knows the exact moment when something’s started to bother you — when you get real quiet in your bubble of reserved stillness and your eyes start to glaze over. To anyone else, it might just look like a person who’s keeping to themselves. Eddie’s starting to learn that usually means trouble when it comes to you.

He knows the difference between your gentle sort of sadness and when you’re damn near inconsolable. When you cried at the end of Stand By Me, you smiled at him with a glassy tear-filled gaze, then rolled your eyes when he tried to comfort you. The tears only spilled over when you laughed because Eddie pretended you’d hurt him when you’d shoved him away. 

But when you’re really upset about something, you don’t show him at all — you fight to keep it all to yourself until you’ve squished the problem into a tiny enough ball that you can forget about all of it.

This is something different.

There’s too much crossing your mind all at once for him to get a good read of you.

You just gape at him, like you’re trying to figure out if he’s joking or not, and then fighting to understand what it means when you realize he’s being serious. 

And just when you’ve started to wrap your head around it all, when your brain remembers how to make words again and you realize you haven’t said anything in several agonizing seconds, a foreign voice sounds from down the hallway.

Not foreign in that it was unfamiliar exactly, just foreign in that you and Eddie had spent so much time alone that you were starting to forget that there was an entire world outside of yourselves. A great big world, filled with a great many people, some of whom were your friends who tended to get pretty worried about you.

“Edward Wayne— why the hell is the Chief in my driveway?” his uncle curses from the living room, sounding like he’s speaking through a cigarette in his mouth.

Eddie himself is immediately freaking the fuck out because he figures he must’ve gotten tipped off again. He tries to calculate the quickest way to get you off of him and to all of his cubby holes full of miscellaneous drugs so he can flush them down the toilet before Jim Hopper busts the door down.

And even though you’re not the drug dealer who’s had cops on their ass since they were fifteen in this equation, you look a whole lot more terrified than Eddie does.

Your eyes go wide and the whites of them swim with terror as you launch yourself off of his lap. You don’t spare another glance back at him, not even when you nearly trip over yourself when you shove your sneakers on your feet and shuffle out of the room. He’s forced to follow behind you like a confused puppy as you bound through the trailer at lightning speed. 

The haste of your movements startles even Wayne, who halts mid-puff of his cig when you’re in and out of the living room before he can blink. The opening squeak of the screen door and metal slamming against metal is the only thing that punctuates your exit.

“Would it kill you to answer your damn phone every once in a while?” the powerful timbre of Jim Hopper’s angry voice, of which only the man himself could pull off, is muffled until Eddie cautiously slinks onto the porch behind you. 

He finds the chief standing beside the Cruiser he’s parked sideways. The door of it is still flung open. A distant beeping sounds from the ignition. 

He’s still got on the pressed khakis of his uniform — complete with the golden badge pinned to his chest, darkened sunglasses on the bridge of his nose, and flat-brimmed hat on his head. Even with the majority of his face covered, it does little to hide the anger that radiates off of him like a hot stove eye.

You remain on the porch, shifting your weight on your feet at the top of the steps. “Okay, Hopper, just listen to me for a second—”

“Three days!” he shouts over you, not deterred by your composed nature. “I have been calling you… for three days! Seventy-two hours. No answer!”

Eddie decides to speak up from behind you despite his better judgment. “Yeah, uh, that was kinda my fault,” he confesses with an awkward laugh. “Wouldn’t let her hang up the phone—”

“I’ll deal with you in a second,” Jim interjects firmly and without thinking. He goes back to berating you with an admirable finesse. “Buckley wanted my head on a pike when I wouldn’t file a missing person’s report in the first twenty-four hours, but seventy-two? She was gonna kill me!”

Rather than argue with him, like every fiber of your being so desperately wants to, you make the difficult choice to concede with a heavy sigh. Because you don’t doubt that Robin was on his ass the second she realized you weren’t answering your phone or at your apartment when she and Steve dropped by.

She did tend to be on the overprotective side, after all, which obviously paired well with her melodramatic disposition.

“I’m sorry, okay? I’ve just been… busy.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard the one before,” the man answers bitterly.

“It’s different, Hopper!”

“I’ve heard the one before, too!”

Eddie can only assume that the both of you are communicating telepathically, what with the way your synchronized glares seem to say a thousand words (probably every curse imaginable, if he had to guess) without your mouths ever moving once. 

He stands on the outskirts of it all, feeling a bit stuck in the thorniness of such a tense silence, like any slight movement might cut him.

Jim moves slowly, akin to a creeping snake, as his hands raise to remove the glasses from his face. Their lack reveals the ice-cold glare that was previously hiding beneath them.

“Get in the car—” 

“—No,” you reject just as the direction leaves his mouth because you knew it was coming.

Jim inhales sharply and smacks his lips against his teeth, like a father whose child is most ardently testing his patience. He plants his work boot in the gravel and his hand on his hips. His steel gaze goes far off for a moment before flitting back to you again.

“…Get in the car or I put you in handcuffs.”

Your breath hitches at the threat. You squint over at him. “You wouldn’t.”

Jim smiles at you, but it’s more threatening than anything else. “We both know that I would.”

Eddie’s eyes flit between the both of you. He can tell that Hopper’s serious and that you’re trying to decide whether or not to call his bluff, with your arms crossed defensively over your chest and lips pursed in a tight line.

You ultimately decide not to. Because Hopper has, in fact, done that before. And even though the circumstances are very, very different, you wouldn’t put it past him to do it again. So you all but stomp your foot like a protesting child and spin on your heel to storm back inside the trailer.

Eddie’s nervous gaze flits between your disappearing form and the storm cloud of a police chief standing in his driveway. When their eyes lock, he realizes he should probably say something. He cocks his thumb over his shoulder and stammers, “I should— I should probably…”

He doesn’t finish his sentence. He catches the front door before it shuts and slithers through the crack of it to follow in behind you.

“Wait, was he— was he being serious about that?” Eddie wonders once you’re back in his bedroom.

It feels a lot less cozy than it did minutes before, less like the bubble of refuge that you thought nobody could pierce and more like a lonely space that feels entirely too empty. You pluck your things scattered around his room, and it starts to feel less and less like home with parts of you gone from it.

“I don’t know,” you answer within a sigh as you collect your cardigan from the back of his desk chair and shrug the thing back over your shoulders again.

“But it’s happened before?”

“Yeah. Once. When I was…” you confess quietly, then trail off. You get your bag from his nightstand and haphazardly shove your scrunchie, sunglasses, and chapstick into the bottom of it. “…When I was in a bad way— it doesn’t matter now.”

Eddie so desperately wants to pry.

He’d wanted to make a joke before, about the handcuffs — something less than tasteful about them and you and Hopper and some good ol’ freaky deaky that you'd scold him for after. But he decides not to now because you sound so strangely solemn about the whole thing, as though it was a story you buried deep with the intent of never bringing it up again.

“You don’t have to go with him if you don’t want to, you know that, right?”

“Of course, I do,” you scoff at his worries, not nearly as threatened by Jim as the rest of Hawkins. You move to stand in front of him in the center of his room and meet his furrowed brows with a soft grin. “He’s not gonna do anything, he’s just pissed. He’ll berate me on the drive back to my apartment and then it’ll be like nothing ever happened.”

That seems to please Eddie well enough, though he’s still a bit disheartened at your leaving.

“I guess we couldn’t keep spending time together like this, huh?” he teases lightly, like the realization of it doesn’t make his chest ache. “Sorta forgot about the rest of the world… whatever that is.”

“It was fun while it lasted,” you tell him with a shrug and a whimsical sigh.

“Wait for me, will ya?” he jokes, if only to make you laugh and to feel like he’s stuck in some sickly sweet ending of a romcom for a couple moments more. 

You roll your eyes at his dramatics but let him wrap you in his arms anyway. His hands find purchase on your elbows, thumbs rubbing soothingly along the outsides of them. “How about a kiss, then?” he offers when the urge to feel you because too great to bear. “For our ten-minute anniversary and all?”

“You never have to ask me, Eds,” you assure with a laugh. You rise to the tips of your toes and he meets you halfway. 

Home is in your mouth. It’s warm and cozy and safe there. It’s easily the most familiar place he’s ever known, with your bottom lip nestled between his own. He feels homesick when you part from him. 

“You’re not mad at me?” he wonders quietly, feeling a bit like a cowering child from where he stands in front ahead of you — eased only when you shake your head almost immediately in response.

“No. I couldn’t be even if I wanted to, I think.”

“Okay. That’s… That’s good.”

“We can talk about it later, if you want. After I get lurch off my ass.”

He tries not to smile too wide, but it’s hard not to beam every time he looks at you. “Yeah. Sure. I’ll… I’ll see you around, I guess?” he stumbles over himself, having forgotten how to say goodbye to you. 

It’s equally as hard for you too, it seems, because you nod at him and turn to leave and then realize once you’re halfway down the hallway that you might not survive if you don’t kiss him again. 

So you turn and rush back, catching Eddie with his back turned and spinning him around so you can peck him again. You feel his cheeks heat beneath your palm and his sigh against your cupid’s bow and his lips melt against your own.

You etch each tingling sensation into the edges of your mind in the hope that you won’t drive yourself completely insane when you inevitably start to miss him like crazy. 

You focus on that and on him when you find Hopper and his stupid proud dad smirk. It’s the only reason you don’t punch him in the jaw and tuck and roll out of the Cruiser when the silence becomes so slowly insufferable.

You’re starting to think Jim left the radio off on purpose. You’ve never known the guy not to drive around without the strumming of an old-school folk song to accompany him. You figure it must be some sort of intimidation tactic, to make you so uncomfortable that you break. You’re a lot closer to that than either of you realize.

You spare a glance over at the man next to you. He hasn’t looked at you once since you get in the car. He’s got one hand at three o’clock on the steering wheel and the other with its elbow propped up on the door as he scratches at the stubble on his jaw. 

He’s too at ease not to be bothered. This is obviously some kind of front he’s putting on to conceal his inner irritation.

You give on the lecture you’d been trying to prepare yourself for and exhale sharply through your nose. Your fingers fidget on your thighs as you kick your restless feet up on the console. 

“Get your feet off the dash,” Jim scolds without missing a beat. 

You huff and obey. “Okay, this is crazy— can’t you just yell at me already?”

He barely wastes a second.

“I cannot believe you right now!” he seethes through gritted teeth, stewing in a dad-like sort of anger.

“It was three days, Hopper!”

“You know what happened the last time no one heard from you for three days?” he shouts back. 

You tip your head back against the seat and groan. You should’ve known he was going to play that card. 

He waves an accusatory finger between the both of you. “You and me— we had a deal, remember? You let me check in on you. You agreed to that. You visit your little high school friends, and I see you at work, so I can make sure you’re not off somewhere killing yourself.”

Hopper becomes a casualty to the tense silence he created then, when you don’t retort with some comeback of your own and force him to feel every ounce of pressure from the leaden quiet. 

He sighs a great big, too loud sigh and shifts in his seat. His softening gaze flits between you and the road. “I didn’t… I didn’t mean it like that, okay? I just meant it, you know, figuratively. I wasn’t… trying to be mean.”

“When have you ever cared about being mean?” you monotone.

“I don’t,” he assures. “I’m just not trying to hurt your feelings, alright? Jeez…”

You try not to take too much pride in the man’s half-apology, though you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t a little bit rewarding.

Jim Hopper’s practically an iceberg. He only melts for his kid, Joyce Boyers, and you, apparently. 

It’s why he’s always so damn protective over you. He’s developed this sort of deep-rooted urge to keep you safe after watching you make every wrong decision a human being could possibly make. And when you mess up, because you do mess up, he feels like it’s partially his fault — that, if he’d done more, he could’ve kept you safer. 

It makes you feel like a burden most of the time, but you know it’s above yourself and mostly out of your control.

You’d known of each other for a while before you really met, because a troublemaker and police chief in such a small town are bound to. But somewhere down the line, he found you in a valley of mourning for someone that was still alive and you found him in a black hole of grief for someone who wasn’t. The empty and infinite voids within you both were stitched slowly together all over again. 

Jim Hopper was the dad you never had. You were the daughter he couldn’t.

And you thought something might change after he adopted El. You figured he might forget about you because it wasn’t like it was his job to watch after you or anything. Playing pretend always felt nice, but you knew it wasn’t real. 

It was to Jim, though, who’d developed a similar adoration for you as the one he had for Sara. He hasn’t been able to forget about you in the same way he hasn’t been able to forget about her. 

Every night, after he’s scrubbed the day off his body and washed it all down with a lukewarm beer, he lays on his pull-out bed in the small living room of his cabin and goes through a checklist in his head. 

He makes sure that he’s checked on El and reminds himself to wake up early to make her breakfast the next morning before he brings Joyce coffee at Melvald’s — Joyce. She always comes next on his list, always right after El, and then you. 

He forces himself to calm down when his blood pressure inevitably spikes at the thought of not having heard from you all day. He reminds himself that he saw you at work on his lunch break and that he’ll see you again tomorrow.

Jim hums to himself as he settles more comfortably into his springy cot, deciding that he’ll try a new wine he can’t pronounce when he sees you at Enzo’s the next day and that he’ll drink it while he rambles about Joyce or El’s new boyfriend.

He drifts to sleep with thoughts of Sara.

You’re as ingrained into his mind as every other person he’s grown to love.

He stopped worrying about never getting you out a long time ago. Like a tomato sauce stain on a dress shirt, he knows he’ll never get you out of his head. He knows even more so that he doesn’t want to — no matter how much you annoy him or how angry you make him when you don’t answer his calls.

“Sorry…” you murmur and swallow down whatever mundane argument you could’ve spewed then, at the result of his sudden warmth. You turn to gaze out the window and trace the edges of the puffy white clouds with your eyes. “I wasn’t thinking about that — the… deal, or whatever… Honestly, I was a little too busy being happier than I think I’ve ever been in my life, so…”

You don’t see the dramatic eye roll he gives you in response, but you can’t miss the hearty groan that spills from his mouth. 

“What?” you laugh in response. “Have you never been a kid in love before?”

It’s almost jarring how he goes from huffy to concerned in a fraction of a second. His head snaps over to you, jaw clenched and eyes suddenly stern and swimming with a lingering fear. 

“Love?” he repeats like he must’ve heard you wrong. “Love— That’s— That’s what this is?”

You shrug. “I don’t know… Maybe…”

His eyes flutter shut for a moment. “Please don’t tell me you’ve said that to each other yet. This guy was just a crush four days ago.”

“No, Hopper. We haven’t. I mean, he literally just told me he was a virgin, so I don’t think we’re even close to—”

“A virgin?” Jim echoes, voice high-pitched and giddy. He beams at you from beneath his bushy mustache and slaps you a little too hard on your arm when he laughs. “Shit, teacup. Are you runnin’ out of options over there or somethin’?”

You twist your body to hit him back harder with your right hand. “It’s not funny, Hopper,” you scold. “He’s nice.”

“You said that about Hargrove once—”

“This is different,” you monotone before the words have the chance to leave his mouth.

“Yeah? How do you know?”

The question stumps you for a moment because you don’t know — you can’t.

You’d never admit it out loud, but Hopper was right; you’re still not quite sure how you ever could’ve thought that Billy Hargrove was a good guy, but you did. You felt a similar feeling of elation with him as you do now with Eddie, an otherworldly sort of happiness that makes you feel like you’re the only person it’s ever happened to.

And here you are now, sometime later and reveling in the aftermath, still gluing pieces of your shattered heart together.

You treat love like a drug. You use and use and use until it stops being a fun thing and becomes a crutch you can’t live without. That’s always when it starts to hurt you, but you’re in too deep to stop craving it.

And you know it’s bound to happen all over again, but you have to believe Eddie’s different or else you might as well fall into the deep pit of despair you’ve been trying this whole time to crawl out of. 

He makes you happy, really really happy, and you’d rather gamble that he hurts you than give it all without even trying.

“I… don’t,” you conclude after a few moments.

Jim seems surprised by your admission, shooting you an incredulous look with his untamed brows raised to his hairline.

You meet his look with a wavering grin. “But he makes me really happy, Hop. Like… It feels like it should be illegal or something. He makes me feel so good my heart hurts. There’s like this—”

“Ugh,” the man grumbles in disgust, sullen all over again.

“I didn’t mean it like that, you weirdo,” you chide.

A grin twitches beneath his mustache in response. “I know you didn’t… ‘Cause Munson’s a virgin.”

“Oh my god!” you groan. “I didn’t even mean to tell you that, okay? Leave him alone— and a swear to god, Hopper, if you make fun of him—”

“Hey, there’s nothing wrong with it, alright? I mean, he’s got the expert around to show him the ropes— ow!” You cut off his stupid joke and accompanying sardonic grin with a fist to his shoulder.

Steve and Robin tend to be quite the formidable duo.

They’ve barely got a brain cell to rub together between them, but there’s still something strangely intimidating about them when they’re both angry. It feels a bit like they’re your I’m not mad, I’m just disappointed parents, and you’re the scolded child taking your lashings in the form of a lecture.

It’s what you feel like now, sitting across from them in your designated booth at Benny’s Burgers — the one by the window in the corner. It’s far enough away from the bustle of the entrance but close enough still to gossip about the assholes you used to know from high school when they walk through the door. 

“You scare the shit out of us when you go AWOL like that, you know?” Steve confesses, still soft even though you know there’s a more upset part of himself he keeps hidden for now.

His chocolate gaze flits between you and the pile of fries in the middle of the table that the three of you share. He finds the one covered in the most salt and pops it into his mouth.

“AWOL?” you echo with a distant laugh when you realize how much he sounds like Hopper. “It was three days.”

“Yeah, and you fell off the face of the earth,” Robin retorts, half-muffled through the hearty gulp of strawberry milkshake starting to melt in her mouth.

“You guys are acting like I went halfway across the country,” you scoff. “I was with Eddie. At his trailer.”

“Exactly!”

Steve’s face contorts mid-bite. “Wait, you were with him? The freak?”

It makes you roll your eyes. He’d been too busy hopelessly flirting with the waitress at the counter to hear the entire recounting of your absence to Robin, though it was more of you gushing about it than anything else.

“Yep,” you answer.

“You skipped out on movie night to be with… Eddie Munson?” he reiterates for himself, as though there was any correlation between watching the same three movies while gorging on greasy junk food with your best friends and falling more in love with a guy you were already head over heels for as he tried to explain away the unopened box of condoms collecting dust underneath his bed.

Both are equally fun in their own ways, but totally totally different.

“How did you survive without me, Steven?” you joke back in response.

“He didn’t,” Robin quips.

“So… what? You guys just went on some kinda bender? I don’t get it. Did you just fuck the entire time or something?”

“Well, contrary to popular belief, I can actually spend time with someone and not fuck them—”

“Okay, that’s not what I meant and you know it.”

“And to answer your question — no, we didn’t fuck,” you confess, then elaborate more slowly, a tad bit awkwardly. “Because he told me today that… he is a… virgin.”

Your words seem to settle over each of them differently. Robin stills with her lips wrapped around the candy-cane striped straw then furrows her brows, as though their meaning hits her a few seconds after the fact.

Steve, meanwhile, goes entirely agape in an amazed sort of shock. His eyes go wide, his brows fly up and hide beneath the bangs that hang down over his forehead, and his jaw falls open. And then he starts to smile, a subtle hint of a grin on the corners of his pink lips, like he finds it funny.

“I knew it,” he murmurs to himself.

“…Why are you smiling like that?”

His smirk widens. “That freak said he screwed Vicki Carmichael senior year. I knew he was lying.”

“And why do you look so proud of yourself, exactly?” Robin asks him.

“Because now I feel less bad about never fucking her,” the boy explains like it’s obvious. He set his elbows on the table and gestures wildly with his hands. “I always thought the freak one-upped me because she, like, never gave me the time of day after Hargrove came along, you know? But… It’s good to know that I’m still king.”

His delighted grin is met with confused looks from both you and Robin, who look upon him with twisted eyebrows and squinted eyes. 

“Are you not aware of how strange everything that comes out of your mouth is?” you ask him, only partly joking.

“At least that settles why he wouldn’t let you give him a blow job,” the brunette girl concludes with a shrug as she slouches against the booth. “Poor guy was probably shitting bricks about it.”

You realize then that it does make sense, why he’d always been so adamant about your pleasure and never his own. Why he always touched you like you were some fragile thing he might break, and like everything was new to him. Because it was new to him. All of it.

And even though it baffles you to no end how he went his entire life without someone wanting to jump his bones (because truth be told, you’re doing a terrible job at hiding your want to do just that), the fact still remains — Eddie Munson is a virgin. 

He’s a virgin with an acute infatuation for the local slut, both of you freaks in your own right. 

It just adds more intricacy to a puzzle that already feels so complicated.

“I’ve never been with a virgin before,” you admit quietly, mostly to yourself, as you train your gaze on the straw wrapper you curl around your finger. “It’s different… Scary.”

“Why?” Robin wonders aloud.

“I don’t know. I just— I don’t know what to do now.”

“Just do what you always do,” Steve tells you like it’s that simple. He folds his arms on the table and leans in closer to you. “Experience is good. Okay? Experience is key.”

“No, it’s not that. I think I’m just… I’m scared I’m gonna treat him the way, you know, that I was treated. And I don’t wanna… I don’t wanna do that to him.”

You’re not sure when the shift started, when you stopped being a person to people. You only know that you were something less than that. Somewhere between junior and senior year, you become a plaything that anyone could do anything they wanted to with, and you were too starved for physical affection to tell them otherwise. 

You liked the attention. You liked feeling loved, even if it was only for a minute and a half, and all you had to show for it was a pool of cooling come on your belly.

Eddie’s the fragile thing now that you were then. 

He was a delicate little thing that can break so easily, something you could split in half if you wanted to. 

You don’t. 

You want so desperately to be kind, but you’re scared you won’t know how to, because no one’s ever been kind to you.

Steve reaches across the table for you, taking a wild stab at an attempt for affection after several months of being scared to touch you — he did enough of that, he thought, and he’d hurt you. But he can see the lingering ache hiding in your glazed-over eyes and feels an overwhelming urge to quell your worry. 

Five warm fingers wrap around your wrist, not too tight or too strong, just enough to stop you from cutting circulation off to the tip of your pointer finger and to remind you that he’s still there.

“Trust me,” he tells you with a sudden soft swimming in his caramel-colored eyes and a smile playing on his lips. “You couldn’t do that to anybody. Not even if you wanted to.”  

Your heart nearly stops at his words, at the sheer kindness of them, and at the way he holds you in the soft way you’re used to only Eddie holding you. Your eyes go wide when they flit up to him and then start to sting with the weight of unshed tears. 

You’re quick to blink them away though, while you playfully shrug him off and joke — “stop being so nice before I get the wrong idea, Harrington” — because it’s easier than accepting his tenderness.

Robin takes one look at his fond gaze, all gooey and dripping with honey, and then at your rolling eyes and accompanying shy grin, and groans at the softness of it all. She slides out from the confines of the booth and grumbles something about getting a refill on her milkshake.

“Some fries too, while you’re up?” Steve offers with a hopeful grin.

He’s met with the girl’s signature scowl.

“Please,” you finish for him.

Robin grins. “Anything for you,” she croons, if only to make the boy pout, before skipping off to the counter.

She leans her elbows upon the red wooden laminate top and smiles that same sickly sweet smile for Benny by the grill — no doubt trying to get her refills for free. 

Even though the bearded man seems unimpressed with her presence, you know that he’ll give them to her free of charge. He’s always had a soft spot for her, one of the only people in town who could rival his wit.

The door dings open, a familiar and high-pitched chime that often becomes more frequent as the evening progresses. This time it lets in a foreign, bitter breeze when the door swings open and closed again.

You can feel the chill from a distance — it resembles the crispness of autumn despite being comfortably settled in the middle of March. It nearly takes your breath away, prickles your skin and makes you grimace back a shiver. 

When your eyes leave Steve, a difficult feat considering he’s doing an alarmingly good impression of a walrus by sticking fries in his upper lip, you find that it wasn’t abnormally cold air at all. It was a Peter Parker spider sense form of anxiety that had felt like a bucket of ice water had been poured over you.

Billy Hargrove used to turn heads when he walked into a room. 

Now he just sucks all the air out of it.

And it’s not like you haven’t seen him since the break up; for a while, the asshole was painted on the backs of your eyelids — he all but haunted your consciousness. You’ll see him around town on occasion, in his sunglasses and jean jacket and too-tight denim pants, while he struts around Main Street with his new girlfriend (otherwise known as, his flavors of the month).

You think this is the first time you’ve been in the same room as him since your split, though. It feels like it must be with the way your throat starts to tighten and you forget how to breathe. 

All at once, you’re scrambling for an exit. It’s like Billy’s a fire and his smoke is rapidly filling your lungs. Your legs start to tremble when your adrenaline spike. Your brain tells you to get out as quickly as you can before he burns you.

Steve notices the look of fear flood your features like a dark storm cloud. You were laughing just seconds before the door opened, equal parts with him and at him, but now you just looked terrified — like a child who’s just spotted a boogeyman in her closet.

He turns in the booth to find what haunted thing has just caught your eye and finds that it’s worse than any monster you could conjure up. It’s Billy fucking Hargrove, with his pretty hair and his pretty smile and his pretty girl under his arm.

His presence filled targeted, almost. Like he chose to come to this diner, on this day and at this time just to fuck with the group of you.

“Don’t even look at him,” Steve advises when he turns back to you. “Look at me, okay? He’s not even worth it. That asshole doesn’t deserve to ruin our day.”

And you try to listen to him. You try really, really hard to let him change that subject to the cold fries or Robin taking too long or a combination of the two, but you can’t focus on him. You’re already so overwhelmed at the sight of Billy that you can’t focus on anything else but him. 

You settle on the fact that you might just have to drag Steve and Robin out by their wrists because you can’t sit in this booth any longer, and you definitely aren’t hungry anymore.

And that’s when he spots you.

Your eyes lock and you freeze, immediately averting your gaze but catching the sudden sparkle in his own as he grins a sly, sadistic grin.

“No way,” you hear him say with a laugh under his breath. The sound of his voice makes you tense. You hadn’t realized how at peace you’d been all this time without having to hear it. Now it feels like so many little needles piercing your skin.

“Fancy seeing you guys here,” he greets after he’s made a b-line for your booth and dragged Vicki Carmichael along with him. He smiles with all of his pearly whites while he smacks pungent wintergreen gum between them. 

When he slides into the booth beside you, he does so without invitation, and forces Vicki to slink in next to Steve.

And like it wasn’t already awkward enough, you know Vicki — like, know her, know her. There was a drunken makeout at a Halloween party in ’82. Then a one night stand with her brother before he left for college in ’83. And then her Tom Selleck clone of a father at a sleepover for her eighteenth birthday in ’85. 

You’re not exactly proud of it, but you’ve gotten a rather hefty taste of her family tree, and the fact that both of you know it makes it that much more uncomfortable.

“We’re kinda busy here, Hargrove,” Steve tells him when he notices how comfortable he’s making himself in your booth.

“Ooh… Is this a little date?” Billy teases with a grin.

Steve’s face falls. “…No.”

“Oh, right,” he nods, though the sardonic lilt in his voice tells you that he already knew the answer. He crosses his arms on the tabletop and turns to look at you with eyes bluer than any ocean. They flicker up and down your form. Suddenly, you feel self-conscious in your baggy jean and tank top duo.

“You’ve been seeing that guy, haven’t you? What’s his name again? The, uh— the freak?”

“His name is Eddie,” Steve answers for you, defending him because you can’t find the words to.

“That’s it,” Billy snaps his fingers, then points. He nudges you with his shoulder. The familiar feel of his jean jacket against your skin makes you wince. “God, you must be runnin’ out of steam over there, huh? I mean… the freak? Seriously? You couldn’t do any better than that?”

The jokes were tolerable coming from Jim and Steve and Robin — they weren’t funny by any means, but you could stomach them because you knew they were jokes. But this? This was just to hurt you. And it works too easily because Billy knows exactly how to break you. He knows all the wires to cut and buttons to push because the puzzle of shattering your psyche is one he memorized long ago.

“He’s actually a really nice guy,” you manage through a tight throat, still staring at your fidgeting hands.

“Well, that’s good,” he hums like you need his approval. “It’s about time, right?”

You huff and choose to entertain him despite your better judgment. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He only shrugs. “I don’t know... Just, you know, that found a guy willing to settle for you. That’s all.”

“Settle?” you repeat, trying to laugh despite how tiny your voice sounds.

“You know what I mean, c’mon,” the blonde boy chuckles. “Sluts are fun and all, but they’re not the kinda girls you wanna settle down with. Steve knows what I mean.”

“No, I don’t,” Steve monotones quickly and without thinking, gaze hardened and jaw clenched. “And you need to leave.”

“I”m hungry, Billy,” Vicki whines, feeling every ounce of the tension surrounding her — like syrup or quicksand. She slides her permed bangs from her eyes and tucks a rogue strawberry strand behind her ear in a nervous tick. “Can’t we just get something to eat?”

“Alright, alright. I know when I’m not wanted,” Billy chuckles.

You grumble bitterly under your breath. “Apparently not…”

“I’ll see you around, Harrington,” Billy singsongs with a grin that wreaks of insincerity while his girlfriend slides out from the booth. He turns to look at you and squints. “Don’t be a stranger, alright? Matter of fact, point Munson my way, and I’ll give him a few pointers.”

You’re uncowed by his offer and angered by his mention of Eddie. Your eyes are stern and unwavering as you meet his gaze for the first time since he sat down beside you. 

“I think you could learn a thing or two from him, actually,” you retort, words sounding sweeter than the venom lingering behind them.

Billy’s grin only widens, impressed by your arguing. “Ooh… I forgot about the mouth you had on you, sweetheart.”

The use of the nickname makes you cringe. It doesn’t sound nearly as fulfilling as it does when it comes from Eddie. Now, it just sounds artificial — degrading.

He leans in close to you like he’s about to tell you a secret and splays his arm along the back of the booth behind you. The nicotine on his breath makes you grimace; it’s intoxicating when it comes from Eddie, disgusting from the boy sitting next to you. 

His eyes are bluer so up close, darker than you remember them being, and you notice he’s trimmed his usual stubble to a patchy mustache. He looks like the grown-up version of the boy you used to know, visually more mature but still the same in his way.

“When he gets bored of you — because, let’s be serious, he will get bored of you — you know where to find me,” Billy murmurs to you, a cynical smirk on the edges of his lips. “I’ll make sure you stay nice and broken in for the next dozen guys that want a taste—”

Steve can’t hear a word from where he sits across the booth, but he’s fuming with fists clenched under the table anyway. He hates how close Billy is to you, more so how uncomfortable you look with the proximity and how his words make you flinch. 

“Alright, you need to leave,” he blurts. “Now.”

Before the blonde could respond with a quip of his own, Robin all but teleports to the head of the table. She’s standing in front of the four of you suddenly, carrying a basket of fries and a strawberry milkshake and wearing a frown on her face.

“You’re in my seat, dickwad,” she monotones, even though she hadn’t been sitting next to you before. She’s not the least bit threatened by the Californian douchebag.

Billy smiles up at her anyway. “I was wondering where the third musketeer was! Still a carpet muncher, Buckley?”

“Happily.”

“What do ya say me and you head up to Lover’s Lake later?” the boy offers despite his date shifting awkwardly a few feet away. It’s a joke, for reasons that are more than obvious, and that’s what makes it so unbearably unfunny. 

He slinks out from the booth. The lack of his warmth is strangely comforting and you’re able to breathe for the first time in five minutes. He stretches his back out when he stands to his full height in front of Robin, then shrugs with his hands splayed on his hips.

“Maybe you just need some good dick. I mean… we’re gonna die anyway, right?”

“I’d rather,” she quips with a rouge-tinted smile.

The way it makes him laugh is startling. He finds a strange humor in being rejected — in most things, really. You still haven’t forgotten the cackles that left his bloodied mouth when Steve delivered blow after blow to the boy’s face in the middle of his living room, like it was all a fun game to him.

That was, of course, before Billy got the upper hand and nearly killed Steve that night. He laughed about it that too, until Max knocked him out with a baseball bat.

He’s got the same grin on his face now as he did then when he turns to look at you. A pink and pretty smirk, just wide enough to reveal the dimple in his left cheek. It’s nothing short of taunting, like he’s mocking you without having to say anything at all.

“Don’t be a stranger, alright?” Billy repeats. He keeps smacking his gum between his teeth and winks at you before spinning on the heel of his boot. He guides Vicki with him to the counter with a hand on the back pocket of her jeans.

Even when Robin slides in next to you and effectively pierces the bubble of tension that had already started to shrink with Billy’s leaving, you still find it hard to breathe. You have to keep reminding yourself, forcing oxygen in and out with wobbling breaths through your nose, or else you just stop altogether.

The other two move on rather quickly, having no trouble finding their voices again after he’s gone. Their words are muffled, though, like they’re underwater.

“I forgot what an asshole he was,” Robin grumbles.

“Well, I didn’t,” Steve retorts, eyes scanning the basket of fries for the most strategic pick of the bunch. “I can still barely breathe through my nose.”

“That’s because you didn’t go to a doctor, dingus.”

“Because I didn’t need a doctor, Robin.”

“Yeah, because being concussed three times in two years is so healthy—”

Your eyes act like magnets as they stay locked on Billy’s form. He leans in closer to Vicki to tell her something, then pats her once on the ass before walking towards the exit again. The door dings when he swings it open. Through the window, you catch him pulling out a red and white pack of cigarettes — the same brand of Marlboro Reds he’s been smoking since he was in middle school.

“You okay?” you hear Steve say, but it sounds too far away for you to realize he’s talking to you.

Robin nudges you with her shoulder to jog you from your stupor. You blink hard once and then turn to her with wide eyes. “What?”

“You doing alright over there?” the girl wonders.

“Yeah,” your answer is too quick and too high-pitched to be true. “Fine.”

“Like, fine as in you’re actually fine, or fine as in, if I leave you alone for too long, I’m gonna find you living under a bridge like a troll?”

You roll your eyes at her. “Fine as in, if someone bums me a cigarette, I’ll be good as new.”

Steve huffs when you hold out the palm of your hand toward him. He’s the only one of you who smokes recreationally enough to carry a lighter and pack of cigs with him. You swear he only keeps it with him because the weight of them makes him feel cool. You’re grateful for them now, though, and for the escape they unexpectedly provide you.

His fingers are warm when they brush your hand. The metal zippo he drops in the center of it is far colder and carries a comforting sort of weight to it. He thumbs a cigarette from the pack for you, and you take it with a sardonic smile and a sickly sweet “thank you, Stevie.” 

Robin gets out of the booth to let you slide out of it.

The door chimes again, this time over your head when you open it. 

Fresh, spring air nearly knocks you on your ass when it hits you for the first time. You realize then, that you’d forgotten to tell yourself to breathe and now your vision’s all swimmy. The cool breeze tries its hardest to quell your swelling anger, but you’re still at a simmering boil. Fists clenched over the lighter and cig duo in your palm and your sneakers slapping angrily against the cracked pavement.

That’s what signals your arrival, the raging stomps that echo in the alleyway Billy takes his smoke break in. 

The boy takes a puff of his cigarette and smirks on the exhale at the sight of you. All he needs is one glance to see how angry he’s made you. It’s an innocent, childlike sort of rage that’s got you all scrunched face and red — a heartbroken girl on a war path.

“I knew you couldn’t resist me, sweetheart,” he taunts with his signature sarcastic smile. He holds his arms at his sides, like he’s waiting for some kind of embrace from you. “You used to be like that all the time — all over me, you know? Clingy.”

“You know what you used to be?” you ask him once you’ve planted yourself a few feet away from him, fists shaking at your sides in a nearly overwhelming mixture of rage and apprehension.

“What’s that?”

“Nice! You used to be nice! Or do you not remember that?” you wonder rhetorically. Your anger fades slowly, an ebbing tide, as a reminiscent sadness eclipses your fury — a flood of blue in all your red. 

The sharp frown between your brows crumbles and so does your clenched jaw as your harsh features crumple like a balled-up piece of paper. You look upon the man that broke your heart with all the shattered pieces of it.

“You used to let me sleep over at your place when I was too scared to sleep alone at mine, and you’d bring me food when I told you I hadn’t eaten all day, and you’d take me on drives when you knew I hadn’t left my apartment in days,” you ramble in a single breath, gesticulating wildly with your hands — waving them at him and at you and the still air between. They fall hopelessly to your sides. 

“You used to be so sweet, Billy…” you conclude with a wavering breath. Your chest trembles on the inhale as you straighten out your shoulders and lift your chin, trying your best not to look as defeated as you feel. “And you know what you are now?”

Billy grins that stupid grin at you, the one that almost looks kind. Almost. It’s still soft in all its insincerity, like a parent entertaining their kid that’s gone on some meaningless tangent.

“No, sweetheart,” he answers after a beat. “What am I?”

“Not nice.”

He scoffs out a laugh.

“You used to tell me, all the time, how scared you were about ending up like you’re dad—” he tenses at the mention of the man, of his own monster in his own closet. “—He’d beat you black and blue every night, and I’d bandage all your cuts and put makeup on you when you begged, so you could go out and pretend like everything was normal. And you know what? You’re just like him!”

Billy doesn’t cower when you walk closer to him. He’s got no reason to be afraid of you, but your words hit him in a place far deeper than a thousand bloodied fists.

“What he did to you, is exactly what you do to me… Or do you know see that?” you don’t wait for a sarcastic reply, mostly because you wouldn’t see the indicators of it through the tears that blur your vision. “You’re not punching me, but it feels like you are. You break me over and over and over and I have to pretend like everything’s just normal and that we—”

“Real mature of you. To bring out the dad-card,” he interjects, if only to stop your ramblings so that he might not have to hear the truth that comes with them.

“You used to he nice,” you repeat, you agonize, you deflate. “Or… Or did you never use to be?”

The shell of your mind answers for you, paints itself with all the memories you’ve been trying like hell to forget for the past six months. It’s easier to pretend the bad things aren’t real than unravel all the reasons why they were bad to begin with, you find.

The negative memories come together like renaissance paintings — dark and gloomy and blotted with too realistic tears and spatters of blood. The oil stains the backs of your eyelids, destined to remain there forever like paintings in museum that’ll stand the test of time if you nurse them well enough.

You hadn’t yet been able to forget the screams and the cracks of fists colliding with bone. They tend to keep you up at night, even when you squeeze your eyes shut and beg for your memory to be wiped away completely. 

Billy crouches over Steve’s chest and pummels wholehearted punches to the boy’s face, never tiring in their force, even well after the boy goes limp underneath him. You beg for him to stop while trying like hell to shield Max from the sight of it all. 

For a while, you’d blamed yourself for it — for Max being there in the first place and for Steve’s cuts and bruises. 

You’d taken the girl and sought refuge in the Harrington home after witnessing a rather heated fight between Billy and his father. There was a sudden urge within you to take her far away from it before it ended how it always did — in weeping cuts and salty tears and insincere apologies when the cops were called.

But you made it worse anyway. 

For Max, for Steve. 

And you apologized profusely for it after, cried to the boy in his bathroom while you nursed his cuts like you were the one who put them there. 

When he told you it wasn’t your fault, you didn’t believe him. Not until now. Not until you realized that Billy had always been angry — always raging with an ocean of fear and grief and violence.

When he fought with his sister, you thought it was normal, that that’s just what siblings did. But the way she cried to you after couldn’t have been normal. Neither could the unearthly fury that washed over Billy like a riptide when he found out you and Max had sought safety in Steve The Hair Harrington — angered that it was Steve and that he couldn’t be that for the both of you.

And then there was the fights. The yelling and screaming and crying fights that felt like the end of the world every single time. The kind of fights you shouldn’t be having when you’re eighteen. You thought that maybe there was some normalcy in the cheating and the secrecy and Billy’s accompanying assholery because that was all you’d ever known.

Or maybe because you had to tell yourself that was normal in relationships because you didn’t want your’s to end. Billy was the first guy to give a damn about you in ways that went beyond just sex. How were you supposed to just give that up?

But then there’s Eddie — Eddie The Freak Munson, who was really just sunshine wrapped up in leather jackets and wild hair and chunky rings and metal music. He makes you happy. The sort of happy that makes you suspicious because something bad has to counteract all the goodness he makes you feel. 

Maybe that’s what this was. 

Seeing Billy after having wrapped yourself in a blanket of Eddie’s warmth made you see somehow more clearly. He loves on you so much that it’s made a mockery of everything else. 

Whatever you had with Billy wasn’t normal, it was a goddamn shit show. He loved you when it was convenient and then had you believing it was the real thing, that you wouldn’t find it anywhere else, when you tried to leave him. 

It was a lie, all of it.

The realization makes you falter.

“Oh, god…” you sigh, voice fragile like cracking glass. “Maybe you never used to be…”

For the first time ever, you see Billy’s grin shake. The edges of it flitter, like he’s fighting to keep the corners quirked up. And his eyes have gone a lighter shade of blue, the way they always did when he blinked back angry tears as he talked about his father.

It isn’t rage glassing his eyes now. It’s something sadder, but still as real — something you never got from him in the two years you were together.

He tries, still, to cover it all up. He smacks his lips against his teeth, sympathetically. “Sorry it took you this long to figure that out.”

The laugh you exhale then is heavy with sadness. Your smile is far away and so is your gaze as you stumble back from him. You turn your head to the edge of the alley where mom’s with strollers and people in fancy suits bustle on the sidewalk and keep your eyes on the strangers that whiz by you’ll probably never see again. 

“This is… This is pointless,” you murmur. His lean form is blurry through the burning tears you blink away. “Every time I see you, it’s just more bullshit so let’s just— let’s just leave each other alone, okay?”

Billy takes a puff from his cigarette. When he sighs, white smoke billows from his plump, pink lips. “That’s a shame… I was just thinking that you were the most interesting you’d ever been.”

The ebbing tide that had just left you rushes back in a bubbling scarlet wave. His words don’t make you sad anymore, they just make you angry all over again because you know you don’t deserve them. And you’re not entirely sure why he’s chosen you to antagonize out of all the other girls who’d made the mistake of falling for him, but you’re too far past the point of not caring to ask.

“Bother me again and I tell Chief Hopper,” you threaten even though you don’t feel very threatening just now. “I know you’re not scared of me, but you’d be stupid to be scared of him.”

“Why’s that?” he wonders before sticking the half-gone stick between his lips again.

“Because he runs Hawkins. And he fucking hates you—” for what you did to me, you almost say. You swallow the words down like bile before they have the chance to spew out. “And… And be nice to Vicki. Okay? She’s too good for you. Don’t do to her what you did to me.”

Your plea for another is the last thing you say to Billy before you turn away from him. You wouldn’t be upset if it was the last thing you ever said to him. You’re grateful for the resounding silence that follows. It’s nothing but the sound of your receding footsteps and the soles of his shoes scrapping the concrete as he snuffs out his cigarette. 

There is no snarky remark or insincere plea — just two people who used to love each other that have no idea to exist together anymore. 

When you step outside the brick confines of the alleyway, you feel as though a fraying string that had always connected the both of you had been finally cut.

It allows you to take a deep breath in for the first time in months. A lungful of fresh air that cleanses you, body and mind.

And when you catch Steve and Robin idling at the corner and doing a terrible job of pretending like they hadn’t just been eavesdropping, you don’t get upset or angry with them — you don’t feel much of anything, really.

You just hand the boy his lighter and unused cigarette and let them comfort you on the drive back to your apartment.

A misery sandwich. That’s what Robin calls the three of you and the heaping pile you lay in. 

Your queen-sized bed is in no way meant to accomodate three moderately sized adults, but you make it work anyway, like you always do.

Steve lays on his back, legs crossed and hands tucked under his head. Robin is on her stomach on the other end of the mattress, arms wrapped around the pillow she smushes the side of her face into. You lay between the both of them — on the both of them. Sprawled out sideways, you’ve got your head on propped up on Steve’s ribcage and your legs thrown over Robin’s thighs. 

The awkward position is the most comfortable you’ve ever been.

“I can’t believe that asshole had the nerve to show up to the diner on our day,” the boy rants. “And then sit in our booth, I mean— who does he think he is?”

Robin’s response is mostly muffled by the pillow. “I thought he left, like, forever ago.” 

“Maybe he just couldn’t stay away. It’s Hawkins, shit attracts shit, right?” Steve answers with a shrug that jostles your head slightly. It doesn’t little to knock you from your stupor, though, where you’ve been stuck for the better part of the day. You pick at the skin around your nails with little regard for how red and raging it's gone.

He notices this and thumps you on your temple — hard enough for you to feel it, gentle enough that it doesn’t hurt you. 

You turn your chin to your shoulder to look over at him. He tilts his own head to stare down at you, honey-tinted gaze somehow stern and soft at the same time. “If he bothers you again, I’ll kill him.”

You’re instantly warmed by his protective disposition. You know that he cares about you, even though you like to joke that he doesn’t. Steve hurt you once, made a promise to himself to make it up to you, and then just never left you alone. 

You’re grateful for it. 

You’re not sure who’d be the butt of every joke if he wasn’t around.

“Good to know,” you answer, nodding against his side and trying to hide the smile he gives you. You fail. “You think if he breaks your nose again, it’ll pop back into place?”

His face falls. “You’re real sweet, you know that?”

You open your mouth to respond, something along the lines of “I’m always sweet. You of all people should know that, Stevie,” before a knock sounds at the front door. It comes in the several rhythmic raps that Eddie is known to give when he’s got a tune stuck in his head. 

Apparently now, it’s the chorus to “Why Can’t This Be Love?” The Van Halen song he said he couldn’t stand before you.

Robin huffs at the sound of the muffled taps. She frowns like a child. “Who the hell…?”

“It’s just Eddie,” you affirm through a half-hearted grunt as you rise from your comfy position.

That brightens the two of them up almost immediately. Her and Steve share a look you can’t place as they grin at one another. Then they turn back to you with identical mischievous twinkles in their eyes. “Your boyfriend is here,” the former of the two singsongs.

You roll your eyes, but make no move to correct her. 

When you stand from the bed and make the short journey towards the door, you hear the patter of their feet following close behind you. 

“Gonna go all the way tonight?” Steve teases and jabs you on the shoulder. “Do you want us to leave?”

“No, nothing is happening. And yes, I think you should leave,” you monotone playfully.

Robin rushes past you suddenly and grabs the brass door handle before you’re able. She swings it open without thinking twice about it. Her sudden appearance, coupled with the fact that it isn’t you, startles the man on the other side of the door.

Eddie’s umber eyes go wide, brows raising and disappearing beneath his fluffy bangs, as his head jerks back.

“Eddie Munson,” the girl full-names the stranger she’s never spoken a word to before now. She leans against the doorway and effectively blocks the boy’s view of you. Steve, who squeezes himself in beside her, doesn’t make it any easier. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“You too, Buckley…” he wavers, trying to peer past them for any sight of you.

“Perfect timing, Eds,” you call out from behind them. “They were just about to leave.”

He’s relieved at the sound of your voice — even more so at your appearance when the two in front of you step off to the side to toe on their sneakers. 

You don’t look much different than when he saw you last. You’ve put on some makeup that’s started to smudge after the long day and changed your baggy sweatshirt for a more fitted tank top and boxers, but other than that you’re still the same. Still familiar and comforting in your way, a home away from home.

His smile is a tired one and it wobbles at the edges. “Oh, shit, am I— am I interrupting something?”

“No,” you’re quick to reassure him. “You’re saving me, actually.”

“Oh, give me a break,” Steve scoffs. “You love us.” 

The boy pulls you into a hug before he leaves, and it’s not the rarest thing in the world, but embraces like this do tend to be few and far between. He whispers  “use protection” in your ear and then a sharp “ow!” when you jab him in the ribs.

He and Robin smile kindly at Eddie when they walk by him and out the door, but waste barely a second before turning back around and grinning wildly at you. Steve flashes you a thumbs up while she mouths a cartoonish ‘good luck’ — like it’s the first time you and Eddie had ever been alone together. Like they were just on your ass about having been with him this whole time.

You usher Eddie and shut the door behind them. A quiet sort of peace settles on the apartment like a weighted blanket. The boy revels in every bit of its warmth.

Exhaustion drips from him like syrup. He’s sticky with it. His eyes have lost their usual twinkle, weighed down now with the burden of his fatigue. His face has lost most of its color, leaving a pale sheath of monotoned skin, and his hair is wilder than normal, with an unintentional sort of ruggedness to his curls.

It’s what being without you has done to him.

“You okay?” you ask him softly. It almost makes him want to cry.

“Yeah,” he answers anyway and idles in the spot where your kitchen meets your living room. “Just had a pretty shitty day. Wanted to spend time with you.”

“Me too… About the wanting to spend time with you part— and the shitty day part, too, I guess.”

Eddie smiles at your rambling, but purses it to the side to conceal it from you. “And since it is just about our…” he trails off and bends his elbow to check the watch on his wrist. “…Twelve hour anniversary, I picked us up some takeout.”

He sets the plastic bag on the counter. The red logo of Oriental Jade on the side of it makes your stomach roll with a distant hunger. You hadn’t realized how starved you were feeling after you abandoned your early dinner at Benny’s. It makes you more grateful for Eddie, who always seems to be on the same wavelength as you without even trying.

“Keep this up and we’ll be married before we hit hour twenty-four,” you joke as you rifle through the cartons — chow mein, sweet and sour chicken, dumplings, the works.

Eddie settles in next to you, propping his elbows on the countertop. “Well, I’m pretty sure the courthouse opens at nine, so… What were you thinking for the honeymoon? Hawaii? Bora Bora?”

“How about a cabin in the woods where no one can find us?”

“Hmm… Spooky. Sexy. I’m into it.”

You settle in the living room and eat on the couch while She Ra re-runs play on the television. You try to teach Eddie how to use chopsticks, though he can only work them with his non-dominant hand and all the wrong finger placements. You think it’s cute to watch him fumble with them, and you giggle about it until you’re scolding him for trying to feed Bowie some noodles. He laughs as you swat at him.

When all the containers are fully scrapped clean and tossed in the recycling bin, you migrate to the bedroom — which is perhaps too raunchy a phrase to use when the two of you only bury yourselves under the covers to talk shit.

Eddie drags out the chunky box fan you use when the air conditioner goes out in the summer — because it always goes out in the summer — and props it on the chest at the foot of your bed so the covers will billow around the both of you. “And it’s perfect because we can stay in the fort forever and not get hot,” he tells you, all giddy about it like he's a kid again.

“What if I get cold?” you retort.

Without missing a beat, he answers, “Well, lucky enough for you, I know several ways I can warm you up, sweetheart.”

He ditches his leather jacket and strips down to his boxers and settles in beside you underneath the blankets. The two of you lay shoulder to shoulder while you trace absentminded patterns on the palm of his hand and tell him about your day.

You make sure to leave out all the re-traumatizing-Billy-Hargrove bits, though. You focus mainly on the tense drive with Hopper and the small fight you’d had with Steve on the drive to the diner later that afternoon about the lyrics to Love My Way (both of you had been wrong).

Eddie tries his hardest to focus on your story and your fleeting touches, but he’s too far in his own head. You tell him all these things but he can’t stop thinking about himself — about whether or not you might’ve brought him up somewhere in between. 

He wouldn’t have blamed you, if you had. Steve and Robin are your closest friends and, for whatever reason, so is Chief Hopper, you’re bound to bring him up eventually. He was just hoping it would’ve been in a better capacity. Maybe about how kind he was or what a god he was in bed — not how he could only be one of those things because he’d never been anything in bed.

“It doesn’t make things weird between us, does it?” he wonders out of the blue.

You halt mid-sentence and turn to him with furrowed brows. “What?”

Eddie realizes then, that the first half of the conversation with you had only happened in his head. He prays that it’s too dark beneath the covers for you to see how red his cheeks get. “Just… What we talked about this morning. About me… you know…” He finds it hard to say the words. Or any of them at all.

“Why would it make things weird?”

“I don’t know. Because I wasn’t… totally honest with you, I guess? I feel a little bad about it, you know?”

“It’s okay,” you assure and turn on your side to be closer to him. Eddie stays on his back, more than happy to let you cuddle further into him. “I guess I do wish you’d said something before, though.”

His chest tightens. “I’m sorry. I just… I didn’t know how to—”

“I’m not saying it to make you feel bad!” you interject quickly when you catch the spiral of regret he was about to twist himself into. You curl tighter into his side, tossing a leg over his thigh and wrapping your hand around his bicep in an effort to melt with him. When he turns to face you, your noses nearly brush.

 “That’s not how I meant it. I just meant that, if I’d known before, I wouldn’t have… I would’ve taken things slower. I wouldn’t have been so, you know, so all over you.”

He hates how apologetic you sound. Like there was ever an ounce of him that would want to take back what happened that night at his trailer or a part of him that might hate how much you love on him.

“I liked it. I do like it.”

“Maybe we can just start over,” you offer. “Pretend like none of that ever happened.”

Eddie knows there’s no way in hell he’ll be able to forget about a single damn thing — not his cum stained jeans and how you looked so pretty washing them for him, not the feel of your tits in his mouth or you wrapped around his fingers, not how you made him blow his load all over his fist just by talking to him. 

He goes along with it anyway, though, just for you.

“Okay...” he nods slowly, then squints over at you. “You’re still my girlfriend, though, right?”

“Of course I am,” you giggle.

He grins proudly to himself. “Well then… Hope it’s not too early to have our first kiss then?”

It makes you roll your eyes because it’s such an Eddie Munson way of asking to kiss you. You told him earlier the day that he never had to ask you — in fact, you’d prefer it if he’d just kiss you out of the blue and take your breath away without you ever knowing it was coming. But there was something foreign and sweet in his little reassurances.

“Kiss me silly, Eddie Spaghetti,” you beam. He twists on his side to press tiny pecks to your smile.

It’s rather strange, you find, to kiss someone this way without the intention of it ever becoming something more. You kiss him just to kiss him — just to map the outline of his cupid’s bow and memorize the pattern of his tongue. Just to feel him, as much of him as your mouth will allow you to.

With one arm curled under his head and the other cradling your jaw, when his watch alarms — high-pitched beepbeepbeeps in quick succession — it’s sudden and close to your ear. 

Your lips click in protest when they part. His are pink and swollen and glossy with your spit. He smiles with them. “Happy twelve hour anniversary, sweetheart.”

“How long are you gonna make that stupid joke?” you laugh like your heart isn’t swelling so much you’re scared it might burst entirely.

“Uh, I was thinking… forever. Yeah. That sounds about right,” he concludes after a moment of feigned thought. He turns his watch off again and you swear you see him set for another twelve hours from now.

“Forever?” you echo.

“Uh-huh. Forever—” he presses his lips to yours once. “—And ever—” Twice. “—And ever.”

Eddie kisses you until you’re flat on your back and surrendering to each of his tiny little pecks. You twist your hands in his hair and let him love on you a little while more. You giggle when his mouth trails from your lips to your chin to your jaw to your neck. Please don’t get bored of me, you beg silently within your laughter.

I don’t think I could even if I wanted to, he answers with each kiss his sprinkles to your starved skin. How could I, when you’re the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to me?

[onakomiyaki]

"Shit shit shit–" Oscar cursed as he struggling to wear his pants as he walk out of the bedroom, almost forgot to wear his–now wrinkly–white t-shirt.

After successfully zipping up his jeans and wearing his tee to hide his bare chest, he frantically searching for his backpack and phone in the living room. But he stop midway, eyes wide, and cold sweat run down his back.

"Morning Oscar," Jenson said calmly, stirring his morning coffee–not even looking up from his newspaper.

"S-sir," Oscar manage to say as he stand straighter, frozen in place as his boyfriend's bestfriend's "father" turn the newspaper with smile on his face.

Oscar however couldn't bring himself to smile as the color on his face slowly drained away from him. This is really is the last thing he needs, meeting Jenson the-first-ever-driver-to-press-the-DRS Button as he prepare to do a walk-of-shame out of his apartment is just like a perfect cherry on top.

"Did you kids have fun?" Jenson asked, "The whole living room is a mess but don't worry I've cleaned it up 2 hours ago," he cheekly continue as he fold his newspaper neatly, while Oscar felt a sword had just stabbed directly to his heart.

"We–I'm–I was just leaving. I'm sorry," the young Aussie said after he manage to find his voice.

Jenson giggled as he finally looking at Oscar messy appereance. Jenson knew a walk-of-shame when he see one, he'd been there long before he adopted Logan.

"Nothing to apologize for, don't worry. You both are young adult, I won't be angry." Jenson speak as he bring his empty cup to the sink.

Oscar let out a shuddered breath but of course he just froze there, somehow more statue-like than a statue when you see one. Jenson–bless him and his beautiful smile–turn his body to face the young Aussie.

"From the state of Logan's apartment, especially the living room, you guys had a blast last night." He asked while wiping his wet hands with a small towel.

"Rough race I must say, it's just one of those days, right?"

Oscar nod his head weakly as his eyes trained to the floor, unable to make eye contact with Jenson. Vegas GP was shit. Very much so that he had to bail out from Max's party and call Logan to pick him up.

When Logan worriedly answer his phone call, Oscar lost it. But of course him being as nonchalant he is never admit anything wrong. He simply said that he missed him. Logan never question him, he never was and will never do that.

"Sorry sir, I was just about to leave–"

"When will your next flight be?"

"Tomorrow morning, sir."

"Ah, that's good! We still have time for breakfast then. I'll make us some tea-"

The bedroom door creak loudly as a very tired-VERY NAKED Logan Sargeant emerged from the bedroom, hair sticking to all over places. He let out a yawn as he rub his eyes weakly.

"Oscar? Where are you going-OH SHIT-PAPA?!?"

Jenson wave at his adoptive son happily as Logan scramble to hide his naked lower region. Oscar facepalming as he trying his best to hide his embarassement.

"Hi Logie bear, papa's here to check on you. You know while I'm in town" Jenson smile innocently.

Logan quickly ran back to his room before emerging shortly after, this time wearing his brief. His whole face turned as red as tomato and he hurriedly walk toward Jenson.

"WHY DON'T YOU CALL?"

"Why should I call? I want to visit my son, that's it."

"YEA BUT-"

Oscar cleared his throat, hoping to make a reminder to both of men that he is here as well. He just awkwardly stand there, staring at the two blondes.

[respectthepetty]

I hate (love) Director Tee!

Director Tee, who also directed I Feel You Linger in the Air, Step by Step, Something in My Room, Lovely Writer, and Hidden Agenda is all about the visual rhetoric, so I knew he'd be up to his same old shenanigans in I Saw You in My Dream, but why was this already happening in the first episode?!

Tee pulled this in I Feel You Linger in the Air with one character hidden behind a transparent barrier but looking fuzzy as if they were in a dream or stuck in a different world.

And while Ai is always lit by the light source, Yu is hidden in the darkness as his back is to the light source.

And this happens often.

So the lights flickering on the Christmas tree were a nice touch to show this 'light' dynamic between Yu and Ai.

Yu's face is also obscured in his reflections.

Since mirrors act as reflections of the truth, it's as if Tee is telling us that Yu can't face his reality or he is hiding from his truth.

Even when Ai tries to capture Yu's face for a picture, Yu blocks him.

And even when Ai does get a picture of Yu, the light source blinds out Yu's face.

Because Yu's job allows him to capture moments without being a part of them. He can create distance by shielding his face and hiding behind the camera (how very My Beautiful Man's Hiro of him).

But Tee is constantly reinforcing the removal of reality through the props as well as Ai wears a "Dream Theater" shirt when he dreams of being with Yu.

The poster in his room is a parody of a La La Land called Dream Land.

And in the psychology section of the library, Ai focused on the dream section.

And finally picked Lucid Horizons: Unveiling the Dreamscape.

But the props also connect the boys because when Ai went over to Yu's house to sleep, Yu was wearing a "Shut-Up! I'm watching the game shirt"

While Ai wore a "She said 'You switch channels again and I'm outta here'" shirt

Because the boys are already connected, and Tee visually stated that as both boys walked down the aisle in a Catholic church with Yu in black and Ai in white.

And stood in front of Ai's father (not a priest) and the altar to give offerings and receive blessings.

Basically, they look real married-shaped in front of God and all his santos.

And the poem above Ai's bed states that he would give all his body to his lover if his lover needed it, but he could never give his heart because that's where his lover lives.

So it's interesting that Yu's brother verbalizes this earlier in the show.

But it's more interesting that the woman Ai met said that his gift was special because he can see the accidents happening which she could not because if she had, she would've gotten more time with her first love, so is Ai's shirt foreshadowing that he'll only "be happy with [Yu] this summer"

Or will his dreams allow him more time to fall in love?

God, I hate Director Tee!

[dsierie]

Soulmate AU.

Yandere Rukawa Kaede—he’s convinced you’re his soulmate

An aloof teenager with an extreme talent in basketball, a star player who received accolades from different people from his school. He was someone capable of playing different positions in basketball and never lacks in his plays—he gave it his all for improvement, disciplining himself for the better. To achieve his aspirations and to have fun as he enters the court.

Set aside his capabilities, he also had the looks. In the past two years of middle school, he always had the most chocolates out of all the male students during Valentine’s Day. It was because of his nonchalant attitude and chiselled features—an acne-free skin, long lashes and soft hair that sways as he plays, it all compliments him as a pretty yet handsome guy.

He’s tall, and even has a built body—albeit not too prominent—from his constant training he spends on basketball. He was basically the dream guy almost all teenagers wish was their soulmate, including yourself.

Unlike him, you weren’t blessed in the world of sportsmanship nor the beauty. You were someone many people were convinced was the epitome of mediocre. Average grades, average skills, and average looks. You were neither shabby nor special, just an average joe on the pavements wandering around.

You couldn’t get why he was completely smitten by you. You admit—the two of you were childhood sweethearts, but that was in the past! you didn’t wanna linger by his side any longer, people would assume the two of you are lovers and then proceed to assassinate you in the name of their obsession with your best friend.

Ever since the two of you started middle school, both of you were told that during those times, you’ll feel the symptoms of something corny called Soulmate Syndrome. A mental diagnosis which completely shuts down all your sexual and other romantic feelings for anybody—regardless of gender.

At that time, he suddenly blurted it out when the two of you went to his favorite spot of playing basketball. He sat down on the bench, right beside you—drowning in his sweat as he was playing with his ball, practicing his 3-pointers while you accompanied him. You were stuck with him after he dragged you out of your household.

“Did you bring an extra tee?” You asked, not peeling your eyes away from the novel you’re reading. You flipped a page, his answer late to your question.

“..no.” He meekly replied. You closed your book, and immediately he turned his gaze away, admiring the flourishing flowers near the dewy grass. “And you brought a ball but not a spare t-shirt?”

Rukawa could feel your side-eye impaling his sweaty body. He was heaving so much that his chest could be seen moving up and down as he was heavily breathing in air to maintain equilibrium. His arms lay flat on his thighs, his ball cuddling close in between his arm and side of his chest.

“I’m about to go home.”

“Oh, shut up. You’re lucky I brought one of your shirts you left behind in our house.” You handed him the shirt in your hand. “I’m not gonna look at you change, but hurry up.”

“Thank you.” He took it from your hand. You turned around to prevent invading his privacy, you could care less about the passersby having a glance at a random boy changing.

“Ya done?” You inquired. He hummed in confirmation. As you turned around, he was using his already drenched shirt to clean his face and dry his hair. You were probably looking way more than you were supposed to, but you were too enamoured with his captivating pulchritude.

He was maturing. Both of you were. He was no longer that big doe-eyed kid from elementary, his eyes were becoming more vile and sharper under his whorls of hair. His cheeks held less fat than when he was a kid, and his nose was becoming more prominent too. Even when he’s playing basketball, he maintains a surreal and delicate face.

“[name]..you’re staring.” You pop out of your bubble—gazing directly back at Rukawa. He’d turn into a tomato at this rate with how red his cheeks and ears were. He turned away in a way that conceived him shy—that was the most emotion you’ve seen from him aside from that flat, blank expression he holds.

“Oopsies.. sorry,” a sheepish grin on your lips as you scratched the back of your head. It was still cold, and the breeze from last night remains stagnant in the atmosphere—nipping against your skin. You had forgotten to bring a hoodie or sweater with you.

“[name].. My parents were talking about it the other day and I can’t help but assume that you’re my soulmate.”

You can’t decide whether you should be astonished by the fact that he has spoken more than five words or reciprocate his feelings for you. Instead, you burst out a big laugh. “That’s a funny joke, Kaede.”

“I’m not joking. You’re my soulmate.” He confirms with his brief yet prim words. You knew he was not someone who was good with jokes, but right now, you made an absolute mockery of yourself because you believed that it was a joke.

Big sweats now dripped your forehead, you were becoming nervous and anxious by each second. It was unlikely that you’d be his soulmate even if the two of you were childhood friends. “Uh—well, isn’t it a bit too early? I mean, we’re still in our second year of middle school. You might find someone better than me, plus—” your words were cut short when he interrupted you.

“Nobody’s better than you. You’re the best in my eyes.” He says, hunching over you. He was bigger than before, way bigger than you. Before he’ll enter high school, he might just be over six foot by that time as it did not seem to you that he’ll stop nurturing.

“Maybe now because you’ll find your actual soulmate somewhere in high school.” You notice he was now petting you, laying his hand on your hair to ruffle it gently. “Yeah.”

For once, he finally said something you can agree to. “I’ll find you after classes in our high school.” Or maybe not. He was fully convinced that you were his soulmate, there was no denying that. However, it doesn’t seem lucid to you.

For the past school years, you successfully dodged Rukawa most of the time he made contact with you. Of course—it wasn’t successful every time because he’d find you and force you to hang out with him. He’s just that convinced that you’re his soulmate.

[junocandraw]

JEFF THE KILLER REWRITE 1/4

Hey freaks!! Its here!! I’ve tried to post this like 100 times, but I’ve had MAJOR TECHNICAL DIFFICULTIES every time. Lets hope that this is the one!

Big thanks to everyone who helped me proofread this and make it all nice and pretty. I’ve worked REALLY HARD on it, so your help was appreciated to the fullest extent.

CW: Blood, Gore, Knives, Seizures, Slenderman, ED, being lit on fire, bullying, if i missed anything please let me know.

DISCLAIMER: This is my first time putting my writing out for the masses. As you can imagine, I’m a little bit frightened. PLEASE be kind. I will take criticism as long as it is VERY VERY nice, and actually helpful. I know commas are gonna be in the wrong place sometimes, I’m human.

WITHOUT FURTHER ADO, ENJOY YOUR MONSTER ENERGY AND YOUR LOW CALORIE POPCORN AND READ MY AWESOME REWRITE!!!

The Move

Jeff leaned his pale forehead on the car’s window. It would fog up under his nose as he breathed in and out. The glass was chilly, a testament to the harsh Wisconsin wintertime. The car moved past the bland dairy farms and trees in a blur. The snowy ground contrasted harshly against the dark needles of the pines. The dull weather seemed to punctuate Jeff’s mood.

Jeff was 17, and had been since last April. He was around 5’11 in stature, with dark hair and pale skin. His eyes were light blue, just like his father’s. If you looked at him too quickly, it almost looked like he had no irises. He adorned a disgruntled expression, and his signature smudged eyeliner, both of which were things his parents hated.

“Jeff, how many times do I have to tell you not to touch the windows?” His father, Mike Woods, glared at Jeff through the rear view mirror. Jeff rolled his eyes, and slouched back in his seat dramatically to avoid his father’s gaze, “And don’t get smart with me.” His father threatened without conviction.

Jeff’s father was a short and stout man, less than desirable to look at. He stood at 5’6, head and shoulders. He was balding on the crown of his head, and his face was shaven. His bright blue eyes matched that of his eldest son. He looked grimey. Like someone that you couldn’t trust. This feeling that he emanated matched perfectly with his career in law.

Jeff became bored at sight-seeing, and turned to look at his half brother. Liu Woods sat in the backseat adjacent to him. He was 15, two years younger than Jeff. His bold, green eyes stared out of his own window. They matched very well with his light brown hair that he had inherited from his mother. He wore a black tee shirt, a green cardigan, blue jeans, and Doc Marten boots. His precious sketchbook was situated neatly in his lap. He played music in his headphones, lost in his own world as per usual.

”Are…are we at the town limits yet?” Jeff’s dull Stepmother fiddled with the phone in her hands, glancing between it and the signs on the road. Jeff’s father gave an annoyed sigh, as he answered,

“Not yet. We’ll get there when we get there, Nicole.” His Canadian accent reeked of privilege. Because of their bickering, Jeff turned his attention to his stepmother. She was a real trophy wife: A stay at home mom with bleach blonde hair, and sparkling green eyes. She was blessed with beauty (Though, it had all but faded with age), but not brains.

“How far are we from Milwaukee?” Jeff asked, having just woken up from a nap a few minutes ago. He had asked this question without ill-intent, but his father didn’t see it this way.

“Jeffery, if you bring up Milwaukee again I’m going to lose it. We’re putting that behind us. No more, do you hear me?” Jeff didn’t reply. He knew his father wouldn’t take a minute to slow down the route, so there was no point in playing his games. He instead sighed, and opened his IPod to a Black Veil Brides playlist. He decided letting his anger fester would be wiser than letting it out while his parents were agitated from the move. The move that didn’t have to happen.

Jeff was angry when he realized he had no say in the matter. It wasn’t fair. He was angry when he was packing his stuff, angry when he said bye to his friends, angry when they loaded the U-Haul van, and angry when they said goodbye to their old house. Jeff had always been angry, even when he was a little boy.

Once, when Jeff was in fourth grade, and Liu was in 2nd grade, a couple of 3rd graders had started to call Liu names from the top of a tall play structure. Jeff, protective of his younger brother, stormed up to the top of their tower and pushed both of the bullies to the ground beside Liu. It was around a 10 foot drop, and both boys went down chest-first. One of the boys broke his arm, and the other one had a nasty fractured wrist. To make matters worse, Jeff then took a sharp woodchip from the ground and pinned one of the boys to the earth with his knees. He used it to cut into the face of the boy, ignoring all of his pained screeches that only a frightened elementary schooler could emit.

Jeff was suspended for 2 weeks, and both injured boys were hospitalized. Desperate to protect their precious public image, the Woods parents paid for both of the children’s hospital bills to avoid a lawsuit. When they spoke with the Elementary school counselor, he pointed out lots of previous issues Jeff had with other children. He then suggested that they seek professional help, because their son may have anger issues. This idea was shut down immediately, and the counselor was given Mike Woods’ classic No-Son-Of-Mine speech. Jeff’s parents hated the idea of any of their children being different.

“Elmerville, established 1849.” Liu read the town sign, taking his headphones off.

“Are we almost there?” Jeff asked, fiddling with the arm cuffs of his light blue crew neck, “I’m hungry.”

“You’ve been hungry for the last hour, Jeff.” His father sighed, and moved his hands to the 10 and 2 position on the steering wheel, “Like I said, we’ll get there when we get there, and when we do, you guys can order pizza, or something.”

“Pizza? Really?” Jeff’s mom whispered through gritted teeth.

“Oh come on, it’s just to tie them over until dinnertime.”

“It’s not proper. What will the neighbors think?”

“Of us ordering pizza?” Jeff raised an eyebrow at his silver-spooned stepmother..

“Jeff.” His father growled, glaring at him through the rearview mirror again. Jeff, for once in his life, wasn’t in the mood to argue. He instead looked back over at Liu. He was now drawing, headphones back over his ears. Jeff glanced down at his sketchbook to see a person in a paisley patterned suit, with a description written in blue ink beside them. Jeff figured it must be one of Liu’s characters that he had created.

“That looks awesome.”

“Thank you.” Liu gave an appreciative nod at his brother, his biggest art critic, and fan. Just then, their father turned into a subdivision, and started down a row of large houses.

“Boys, welcome to your new neighborhood.” Their father stated, pleased with the neat array of houses ahead of them.

“It's very…minimalist.” Liu was disappointed at how much character the subdivision lacked, a new trend that he often complained about to his brother. He scratched his neck, and stuffed his sketchbook into his tote bag, saving his current drawing for later.

“Yeah…whatever that means.” Liu’s mother added under her breath.

“It’s perfect, just what the Woods family needs.” Jeff’s father gave a smug smile. The car slowed down, and turned into a paved driveway. Jeff and Liu stared at the house in front of them. The outside was white brick, with a black roof and shutters. The lawn was neatly manicured, completed with bushes that had snow piled on top of them.

The four car doors popped closed in unison, and the family stepped out to examine their new house. The moving van pulled up to the curb behind them, stopping with a high pitched squeal and a hiss.

“Welcome home, everyone.” Mike smiled proudly, fists balled on his wide hips. He walked up to the front door and began to unlock it with the key that had been provided.

“This isn’t home.” Jeff muttered to himself under his breath next to Liu, as the two boys went to grab their boxes from the moving van.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Once Jeff’s furniture had been unpacked, he laid out on his bare mattress. His sheets and blankets were still in the van, but he didn’t feel like getting them yet. As he was thinking about unpacking, he heard knuckles wrapping on his new door,

“Jeff? Can I come in?” Liu asked timidly. Jeff gave a grunt of approval, and Liu opened the door. He saw his half brother laid out on his mattress like an emo starfish, his room only half decorated.

“What's wrong?” Jeff asked, rolling over so Liu could sit beside him.

“Everything.” Liu answered.

“Yeah. This place is awful.” Jeff’s shadowed eyes narrowed, “It’s so – fake – if that even makes sense.”

“I bet the people are too.” Liu frowned, looking out of Jeff’s window onto the unfamiliar backyard.

“No kidding. Mom’s probably gonna start to bitch at us about everything we do so that we can, ‘Make a good first impression with the neighbors!’” Jeff scoffed, mocking his stepmother’s shrill voice. He then flopped back down onto his bed with a groan. Liu followed,

”Everything is so fake.” Liu sighed, staring up at Jeff’s new white ceiling, “What do you miss the most?”

“I miss hanging out with the team at that one gas station next to our school. A group of us would always go there and get slushies after practice. I miss Stanley too. Losing him was like losing an arm.” Jeff felt choked up describing his home town, and his hockey mentor whom he missed dearly. Stanley Waterbury introduced Jeff to his favorite sport, and trained him from his youth to his adolescence,

“I miss the art room. I miss my oil painting that I never got to finish. I miss Noah and Jacquelyn.” Liu added, kicking his feet that hung over the edge of Jeff’s bed.

“I miss Milwaukee.” Jeff whined, face in his palms. He was ready for his father to be standing behind the door, waiting to strike him for mentioning his beloved hometown. The name of the city they once lived in had become taboo– something that couldn’t be so much as uttered. It hurt Jeff a great deal that a place he once cherished was now nothing more than a hush-hush topic.

No sooner than Jeff had thought of him, he heard his father’s voice booming from downstairs,

“Boys! Come put the rest of these boxes away!” Jeff groaned at this, wanting to take a break from unpacking and reassembling his possessions.

”Coming!” Liu yelled back, “C’mon, if we do it fast we can eat pizza.” He offered Jeff a hand to pull him up.

“Good. I’m starving.” The pair exited Jeff’s new room, and began to descend the stairs together. Their father was putting cushions on the expensive beige couch that they had just purchased. Nicole Woods set up a shabby chic sign over the mantle that read, ‘Home is where the Heart is’ in Rae Dunn font. Jeff found this incredibly ironic, as he felt his heart was back in Milwaukee.

Liu opened the front door, and Jeff followed him outside. They had to avoid the two moving guys who worked together to carry a coffee table into their house. Jeff held the door wide open for them, for which he received an appreciative nod. Liu stood on the steps of the house, waiting for Jeff to follow him outside. They spent the next hour or so bringing their items into the house, unpacking them, reassembling furniture, and dusting. Lots of dusting.

When everything was said and done, the Woods family gathered at a cards table on foldable chairs. They ate their pizza for dinner, much to Nicole Wood’s protest. It was quiet, the only sounds being chewing, and Mike Woods obnoxiously slurping his lukewarm beer.

“So, did you boys get everything unpacked?” Jeff’s stepmom broke the silence, forking at her pizza instead of eating it with her hands like a normal person.

“Mhm.” Liu answered with a mouth full of pizza. Jeff nodded silently, which angered his father for some reason.

“Jeffery?” He looked at his eldest son,

“Yeah.” He answered, without breaking eye contact with his food. However, his father didn’t find his answer sufficient,

“What is your problem, young man? Why can’t you show a little bit of gratitude? Why can’t you sit with your family and have a good time?” Jeff’s head tilted upwards to meet his father’s glare. His eyes were ice, even lighter than his fathers. They were shaded by his messy, dark bangs.

“My family?” His eyes narrowed, “Liu is my brother, but that homewrecker isn’t my mom.” Jeff’s stepmom clutched her hideous, chunky necklace, and turned to her husband to see what he would do. Liu sat silent, staring down at his half-eaten pizza, waiting for the pot to boil over. His father slammed his fist on the table, causing Liu to jolt. He stood up in an attempt to strike Jeff, but Jeff ducked backwards with ease. He pushed his chair out aggressively, leaving his stepmother and brother behind. His father would have none of this. He followed Jeff through the arched doorway and into the dark living room.

Jeff reached the banister of the stairs, but not before his father had caught up to him. He yanked him off the first step by the back of the shirt, and pulled him down to his level. Jeff landed on his ankle and winced with pain. Now he was fuming.

“YOU LISTEN TO ME NOW, BOY!” Jeff was 4 inches taller than his father, so he looked down on him. Jeff loved this. It gave him a sense of control. His father barked in his face, embarrassed that his son had evaded his hand so easily just moments before, “IF YOU THINK FOR A MOMENT THAT YOUR MOTHER AND I ARE GOING TO TOLERATE ANYMORE OF YOUR…DISRESPECT, YOU ARE SORELY MISTAKEN!” Jeff felt glee coursing through his veins at the sight of his father; he knew that Jeff was getting too old to push around. Jeff could see it on his pudgy face. He was terrified.

Jeff narrowed his eyes at his father, challenging him. He wanted to hit him. To hurt him. But he wouldn’t hit first. Jeff’s father accepted his son’s challenge, and swung at him with a weak right hook. Jeff ducked, but not quite in time. He got the top of his head knocked pretty good, inciting a new feeling inside of him.

Jeff felt something unfamiliar triggered in his brain. He was reminded of the countless years he had dedicated to his passion: Hockey. Jeff was one of the best centers in the state of Wisconsin. He had always loved to fight, and had never taken a knee in his entire career, something he constantly bragged about. However, there was something sinister to this fact. Whenever he fought on the ice, he always felt some kind of excitement at hurting other people. He wasn’t sure why, it had just always been like that. It was just who he was.

However, what he was feeling now was different, something he hadn’t ever felt before. All of the sudden, there was a strange ringing in his ears. He looked into his father’s beady blue eyes. He felt irked at the sight of him. Pure, unbridled hatred. Rough as sandpaper, and hot as flames. This, mixed with the aforementioned pleasure blended into something entirely new: Bloodlust.

Suddenly, Jeff lunged at his father, grabbing his thick neck with much force. Jeff’s father stumbled back, and landed against the wooden front door. A family photo fell to the floor with a “Crash!”. Jeff’s father tried to pry his son’s hands off of him, but it was to no avail. Jeff had an insane look to him, something evil swirling within his frozen irises. Just as Jeff was about to really get violent, he heard his stepmother’s shrill voice to the right of him.

“STOP IT, YOU TWO, STOP IT!!!” She cried, pulling them off of eachother, “WHAT’RE YOU DOING?!” It was like a haze had been waved out of Jeff’s face. The ringing was gone, the rage was gone, and the pleasure was gone. Jeff’s father moved away from his son, coughing and gasping for air. He did his best to hide the terror he felt. It wasn’t working.

”Jeff, go to your room. Now.” His stepmother held her husband’s arm. Jeff stood for a moment, unsure of what he was actually going to do. He looked to the arched doorway that led into the kitchen, and saw Liu’s silhouette beneath it. All eyes were on Jeff.

”NOW!” His father screamed. Jeff gave one last glare at his father, before growling with frustration. He stormed up the wooden stairs to his bedroom, and violently slammed the door behind him. He sat on his bed, neatly made with his black bed sheets and his comforter. He looked at his shaking hands, feeling his surging adrenaline begin to fade.

“What…what was that?” He asked himself, startled by how fast he had resorted to strangulation. He turned his head upwards and began to look around his room, “A lamp…a poster…highlighters in a cup…my desk…and my water bottle.” He said all of this to himself whilst taking deep breaths, just as his therapist had instructed him. He felt sick to his stomach.

He laid back on his bed, and stared up at the ceiling, just as he had done with Liu a few hours earlier. He turned over with a sigh, and hugged a pillow close to his body. He watched how the moonlight shone through his blinds onto his bedroom floor in horizontal lines. Soon, he drifted off, anger lingering deep within him.

The Hallway

Jeff’s family moved into their new house during the school district’s winter break. The break came to an end in early January, and Jeff and Liu began to attend their new High School, Elmerville Catholic United, on a Monday. This was an adjustment for the both of them. They had previously attended a public school in the North of Milwaukee. Despite it being underfunded, and the building not being the newest, Jeff and Liu loved it.

Jeff was actually fairly popular. He had friends from all walks of life. He spent most of his time with his hockey team, and he even had a few girls that he had been talking to. Jeff’s academic efforts were never grand, but he had received countless scholarships from colleges for hockey.

Liu, on the other hand, had exceptional grades. He was a sophomore with a steady 4.0. He took lots of AP classes, and did well on his ACTs when he took them. He spent most of his time in the art room. Liu had a small group of friends that shared similar interests, and similar music taste. Being more introverted, he preferred this to a larger friend group like Jeff’s.

Their parents had constantly begged him to switch to the nicer private school in town, and almost forced the boys out a few times. Jeff always bent over backwards for both him and his brother to make sure they weren’t ripped away from their beloved routine.

This new school was like hitting the reset button. The campus had a big library, a huge gym, the newest technology, and had been built very recently. Jeff and Liu would take the asbestos ridden basement and mediocre food at their old school anyday if it meant they could be with their friends again.

“Room 114.” Liu stared down at his schedule card as the pair walked out of the front office, “What about you?”

“Room 212. Damn! I’ve got biology first!” Jeff groaned, science being his least favorite subject.

“That sucks, I’ve got creative writing.” Liu smiled at the paper in his hands,

“How’d you get mom and dad to sign off on that?” Jeff asked, knowing how much his parents despised Liu’s interest in the arts.

“I…uh- didn’t.” Liu whispered sheepishly.

“You got away with that?” Jeff grinned, impressed with his younger brother.

“I guess.” Liu responded absent mindedly.

Jeff didn’t pay attention to any of the lectures. He instead spent his time counting down the minutes until school ended. He felt isolated. He felt like a Freshman again as he aimlessly wandered the halls with no one to talk to. There was a ban on phones and IPods in the building, so Jeff wasn’t able to communicate with his brother. What Jeff hated the most was the school uniforms. Stuffy crewnecks and ugly khakis were all the eye could see, leaving no room for any sort of individuality. Jeff felt like he was being strangled to death by the arbitrary rules.

At last, the final bell rang out. After the afternoon prayer had been concluded, Jeff collected his homework on the way out of his 8th period class. Just as he was about to walk through the doorway behind his teacher, he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned around, and was met with another boy around his age. He was just a little bit shorter than Jeff, with a sleeper build. He had fox colored hair and eyes like cobalt. His face was vaguely freckled and he had a scar on his chin.

“You’re the new kid?” He questioned Jeff, leaving no room for pleasantries.

“Yeah...” Jeff answered hesitantly, disliking the feeling that he was getting from this kid.

“And you play hockey?”

“Yeah...”

“Did you play for Stormbreaker Elite?” The boy asked, his head tilting slightly. Jeff was surprised

“How do you-“

“I guess you’ll be playing here then? I’m the team captain.”

“Yeah. I signed up for the team way before I got here.” Jeff answered coldly.

The boy nodded, a slight smile tugging on the corners of his mouth. Just then, two other boys appeared from the dimly lit classroom behind him. One of them was a skinhead that had a chip in one of his canines. He was lanky, all knees and elbows. The other boy was the opposite. He was pudgy and slow. Jeff could hear him breathing out of his mouth, which grossed him out. He would occasionally toss his greasy brown hair with a flick of his head.

“Did you actually commit to Wisconsin?” This kid was starting to get on Jeff’s nerves with all of his questioning.

“Sorry, who are you?” Jeff shifted his weight onto his other foot.

“This is Troy,” Randy tilted his head towards the fat kid, “and Keith. I’m Randy. My dad is Mr. H.”

“Who?” Jeff raised an eyebrow and folded his arms.

“Mr. H? The AD? Are you slow?” Randy sneered. His friends chuckled at this comment.

Jeff began to piece the situation together: This was an attempt at intimidation. Jeff tried not to let his short temper control him, and instead attempted to salvage the conversation,

“So…do you all play hockey?” The question was both a peace-offering, and a way to gauge how often he would have to encounter these douchebags.

“Yeah?” The skinny kid scoffed, eyeing Jeff up and down. Jeff took a deep breath, telling himself that he wouldn’t be controlled by his anger.

“Well, I just moved here. I live over in Clairmont.” Jeff explained, pretending to be blind to their malice.

“I don’t remember asking you.” Randy sneered, sizing Jeff up with his cerulean eyes. Jeff felt like throwing his fist at Randy’s mouth as hard as he could, but he refrained.

“What’s your problem, dude?” Jeff challenged, “I don’t even know you.”

“The problem is that you think you can just waltz in here and join the team halfway through the season without even trying out.” The skinny kid narrowed his eyes at Jeff, and the fat kid glared even harder.

“After all, I’m the best center in our district, so don’t think you’ll be getting any playing time.” Randy spoke with a pompous tone.

“Does your skill get you your minutes, or your Dad’s job?” Jeff watched Randy’s smirk disappear. It was clear that he had never been stood up to before.

“Look at my stats and ask me that again.” Randy shot back, his feet moving to a fighting position. Jeff knew that he could absolutely wreck Randy if he wanted to. The problem was his goons. Randy was protected, which only frustrated Jeff further.

“How about you look at my stats? You seem to know everything about me already, right? Do you like digging through your Dad’s shit when he’s not in his office?” Jeff also moved his feet to get a better stance. All of the sudden, a voice broke the tension between the boys,

“Mr. Woods?” When Jeff turned around, he saw a man he didn’t recognize. He had the same fox-colored hair as Randy, but it was grayed from age. His eyes shone a lighter blue. His face was weathered, but he wore a pleased expression. He held a clipboard, and had a whistle around the neck of his red polo shirt. The same haze of bloodlust that had been over Jeff’s consciousness during the fight with his father evaporated. Jeff hadn’t even realized it was there to begin with.

“You’re definitely the older one.” The man whispered to himself, biting on the end of his pen. He brought the ink down to the paper and scribbled some notes down. Jeff turned slowly to side-eye Randy and his goons. They all glared at him, but none spoke a word. It amused Jeff how quickly the boys had lost their macho attitudes once the administrator had arrived.

“Hello?” Jeff’s eyes darted between Randy’s crew and the adult, who he assumed was Randy’s father. The man looked up, and smiled at Jeff. He tucked his clipboard under his arm, offering Jeff a hand to shake.

“I’m Peter. Peter Hayden, but you can call me Mr. H. I’m the athletic director here at ECU.” Jeff shook his hand firmly, and then shoved his hands into his pants pockets. For some reason, he felt that Mr. H’s tone was laced with insincerity. Jeff had only known Randy for a little bit, but he was certain that this was his father.

”I’m Jeff. We spoke over Email last month about me transferring here.” This comment made Mr. H chuckle a bit.

”I remember. So, you’re going to Wisconsin?” Jeff nodded, his eyes widening a bit, “That’s great! It’s been a while since we’ve had a D1 recruit on our hands.” Mr. H turned his attention to the group of boys,

“You boys can go home. Practice is cancelled today because of the weather.” Randy gave one last glare at Jeff, before leaving the classroom with his punk friends. Mr. H wrote a few more things down on his clipboard, before turning his attention back to Jeff,

“Well, you wanna come see the rink?” He offered Jeff another pretentious smile. Jeff nodded, and began to follow Mr. H out of the classroom.

The two walked together through corridors and hallways that Jeff recalled being lost in earlier that day. The layout of the school was finally starting to make sense in his mind. Eventually, they wandered through the gym where the girl’s basketball team was practicing free-throws in groups. Jeff hated the awkward silence, and decided to strike up a conversation with Mr. H,

“Is that your son?” Mr. nodded, followed by a sigh,

“Yep. Did he give you any trouble?”

“Nothing I couldn’t handle.” Jeff responded coldly as Mr. H waved to the coaches across the gymnasium. The Athletic Director sighed again, and shook his head.

“My son, Randy, is…territorial…if that makes sense. When he feels his control is threatened, he tends to lash out at others. I’m starting to regret talking about you so much with my wife. I’m sure when he heard “Wisconsin University,” He took that as a threat to his power.” Mr. H was being way too honest with Jeff, another red flag.

The administrator pushed open a double door at the end of the gym that opened into a dim, concrete hallway. At the end of it, Jeff saw the ice rink. The pair walked up to the boards, and looked out onto the ice.

The rink was very nice, and in good shape, a testament to the Catholic school’s wealth. There were sponsorship banners all across the ceiling, including, of course, Jeff’s father’s law office. Hanging directly over the court was the American flag, the Vatican Flag, and the Wisconsin state flag. There was a huge scoreboard on the wall at the other end of the rink, adjacent to the 6 state championship banners from past years.

“Wow…” Jeff couldn’t lie; he was impressed. At his old school, they rented a rink in town for practice and for games. He hadn’t been informed that this one would be attached to the school.

“Yep. It's a real pain to keep it cool in the summertime.” Mr. H sighed. He made a sudden left turn and continued walking. Jeff had to jog a little to keep up with his long strides. They went under the concrete bleachers and to a red door that read, “Boys Locker Room.” In navy blue letters. Mr. H used one of the various keys on his keychain to unlock the door, and Jeff followed him inside.

Once they entered, Mr. H flicked the lights on. The locker room was very spacious, and very spirited. Both walls were lined with alternating red and blue lockers, and, “HARD WORK” was painted on the wall above them. All of the lockers were labeled with the players' names. Mr. H pointed at a blue locker towards the middle of the left wall,

“This one’s yours, kiddo.” When Jeff got closer to it, he could see his name engraved on a metal tag. Mr. H got his clipboard back out and scribbled on it for a moment, before handing Jeff a detention slip. Jeff was confused for a moment, before noticing it was blank. He turned it over and found a locker combination. He looked up at Mr. H, who laughed at him,

“Did I scare ya? Go on, open it!” Jeff messed with the combination lock before finally managing to open his locker. He was taken aback at the sight in front of him. A white helmet, two brand new home and away uniforms, a reversible practice jersey, and a backpack were situated neatly inside, along with a bag of new stick wax, grip tape, a few stickers, and a keychain ice skate sharpener. Jeff felt as though he had just opened a present under his Christmas tree. Jeff turned back to Mr H, who had that phony smile again.

“As long as I get some playing time.” Jeff thought, returning a fake smile to Mr. H.

“I assume you have a stick, skates, padding and all that stuff, right?” Jeff nodded, and turned to his locker full of gifts, then back to Mr. H,

“Thank you so much!” Jeff cheesed, milking his situation dry.

“No problem. If you need anything at all, come visit me in my office, and I’ll be happy to assist you. Welcome to ECU.” With that, Jeff grabbed the small gifts and put them into his new backpack. He left his uniforms so that they would be ready come game time.

Jeff said his final goodbye to Mr. H at the front office, and left through the front doors of the school. He found Liu waiting beside his car, clutching his body, and shivering. He was shaking like a leaf from Wisconsin’s bitter cold.

“There you are! I called you like 7 times!” Liu complained, his bright green eyes standing out against his red face. Jeff shrugged, and unlocked his car,

“My phone died. Sorry, man.” Jeff opened the door behind the driver’s seat and threw his belongings on the floor of the vehicle. He offered to take Liu’s, who politely declined.

“It’s fine.” Liu sighed, climbing into the passenger seat beside his brother. Jeff stuck his key in the ignition of his white Santa Fe, and warm air began to flow from the vents. Liu noticed Jeff’s new red and blue backpack in the back seat. Jeff struggled to plug the car charger into his phone, “What’s all that?” He asked, as Jeff put the car in reverse and backed out of his parking spot.

“The athletic director found me in my last class and took me to the rink. I got a bunch of goodies and stuff too. He’s totally fake just like everyone else here, but hey, at least I know I’m getting some playing time.” Jeff smirked, turning onto the main road and out of the high school.

“Dang.” Liu criss-crossed his legs up on the seat, “How was school?” Jeff noticed the change in Liu’s tone. He almost sounded sad.

“Dumb.” Jeff sighed, “I almost got into a fight at the end of the day.”

“Jeff, what?! It's your first day!” Liu buried his face in his hands and shook his head, “What is wrong with you?!”

“Don’t worry, it wasn’t serious.”

”Jeff, any fight you almost get into on your first day is serious.” Liu panicked, wondering how his older brother could be so calm.

“Relax. The athletic director intervened, and I got away unscathed.” Jeff fondly recalled how lucky he had been.

”How?”

“Well, I was about to leave class, and this kid named Randy came up to me and started telling me to bitch and moan about me joining the team. He plays hockey too, and he’s the team captain, or something. It was pretty stupid.” Jeff watched as a bad driver changed lanes ahead of him without signaling.

“But you didn’t fight him?” Liu narrowed his eyes, skeptical of his half-brother.

“I didn’t. Believe me, I could have broken his twig ass in half. He’s okay because I let him be.” His turn signal clicked quietly as he spoke. Jeff neglected to tell Liu that Randy was the Athletic Directors son, because he didn’t want him to worry.

“Was he blond?” Liu asked, turning away from his brother towards the window.

“No, why?” Liu went quiet, “Liu?” Jeff felt the atmosphere change as he made a left turn into their subdivision.

“It’s nothing, don’t worry.” Liu looked out of his window, trying to ignore Jeff’s questioning.

“It’s not nothing. Don’t lie to me, what happened?” Jeff gripped his steering wheel tighter, trying his best to push his feelings down.

“You know how it is…moving to new schools…” Liu paused again, trying not to set his older brother off. Jeff felt that intoxicating haze return. It was even stronger than before. anger, it was something stronger. Something scary. Even for Jeff.

“I’ll kill him…” Jeff whispered. This phrase fell out of his mouth. He didn’t even know where it had come from.

“Jeff, it wasn’t that bad. I promise.” Liu sighed, setting his hand on his brother’s shoulder as he put the car in park on the street outside of their house, “Really, it's not a big deal.”

”Did he hurt you?” Jeff asked. His voice wasn’t normal. It was different. Only slightly, but it was different.

“No. I’m fine.” Liu answered honestly. Jeff paused, his eyes fixed forward on the street in front of him. That ringing had come back, like an angel singing in his blood. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“Okay.” Jeff muttered, and switched the keys off. Before Liu could exit the car, he felt his brother’s firm grip on his shoulder. He looked back to see Jeff with a strange look, one he had never seen before, “Promise that you’ll tell me if something happens. Okay, Liu?” Liu gave a slight smile, and pulled his older brother in for a tight hug.

“I promise. I love you.” He patted his brother on the back firmly.

“I love you too.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That night, Jeff had a strange dream. He found himself walking through a forest against his will. He wasn’t sure where he was going, or how he got there in the first place. He just kept walking forward, unable to stop. He felt tired, as though he had been walking for hours. The night was chilly, but not unbearable. The sky above him twinkled beautifully, an unmatched dark blue spotted with glowing stars. The smell of wet earth and pine permeated the air. The wind would sometimes blow and sting his face, yet he persisted in his walking.

He reached a clearing in the forest, and he finally stopped walking. He fell to his knees, too exhausted to feel the scrapes and cuts all over his body from the tree branches he fell into. All of the sudden, there was a faint ringing in his ears. Nothing significant, but still noticeable. He looked around. The space was illuminated by moonlight that shone through the opening in the tree canopy.

All of the sudden, Jeff felt a sharp pain in the front of his head. He winced, and touched his face. When he opened his eyes, his hands were stained with blood. He gasped, and looked up. Standing there in the clearing was a man. Jeff was perplexed, as no one had been there moments earlier. That's what Jeff thought, but the more that he looked, the more inhuman the figure seemed.

It was only shorter than the trees around it. It stood as still as a statue. Its arms were long, reaching all the way down to his knees. Its fingers were long too. Boney, and pale. Strangely, it wore a suit completed with a black tie. An odd outfit choice for the middle of the woods. Jeff’s eyes widened in horror when his eyes fell on the top half of the creature. The creature lacked a face entirely. Its features were replaced with smooth white skin, indents where they should have been.

Jeff gained control of his body once more, and began to scramble backwards. The creature didn’t move its body, but it did move its location. It was like every time Jeff blinked, the figure would be in a new location even closer to him. The ringing in his ears grew louder. Before Jeff could get away, inky tentacles reached out from the creature’s back, and grabbed his ankle. Jeff was pulled back, and his body was raked across the forest floor. His chin scraped against rocks and roots, and his hands were red from trying to to grab hold of the forest floor.

Jeff’s body was lifted off of the ground by his ankle, and pulled up into the air. He was stopped abruptly. Jeff was too frightened to open his eyes. When he did, he was face to face with the creature. Jeff screamed, but he was too frozen to do anything. Just then, the creature spoke to him,

“Jeffery…” It breathed, barely audible. Its voice sounded like the wind through the trees. Blood poured down Jeff’s face from out of his nose and into one of his eyes. The ringing grew even louder by the second. He couldn’t see, but he couldn’t do anything about it. His hands were limp, and he couldn’t move them no matter how hard he tried. He watched helplessly through the one eye he had left as two more pitch black tendrils emerged from behind the monster.

He felt one of the tendrils slip into his mouth, and then the other. They tugged harshly on the corners of his mouth, growing stronger with every second that passed. Then, they started ripping. Jeff felt an excruciating burn in his cheeks as the monster’s tentacles tore through his flesh. He tried to scream, but no sound came out. He couldn’t even blink. He felt more crimson blood spurting out and trickling down his face. Now he was blind in both eyes. All Jeff could do was hang limply by one of his legs and bleed while the monster laughed at his suffering.

Jeff woke with a start in his bed, his chest heaving and his eyes wide. He wiped the sweat dripping from his brow with his hoodie sleeve. He loosened his grip on the bedsheets, and began to come back to his senses. He touched his face with his fingertips, and found that his cheeks were perfectly intact. He gave a deep inhale, and dropped his shoulders as he exhaled.

“Man…What was that?” He thought, recalling the nightmare he had just had. Never before had he experienced a dream so vivid in his life. He tossed his covers off and sat on the edge of his bed. He pulled some fuzzy socks over his feet. The glow from the moon outside illuminated the end of his bed, and his floor in stripes from the blinds. He stepped quietly to his bedroom door, and turned the knob. He snuck down the hallway to the bathroom, and shut the door before flipping the light.

He stared at himself in the bathroom mirror. He was relieved to find no blood on any part of his face. His fluffy, black hair was a bit tousled from his active sleep. He had forgotten to wash his eyeliner off the previous night, and black circles wrapped around his eyes like a racoon. Upon inspecting his complexion, he found an odd red tint to his skin. The welts started at the corners of his mouth and ended right beside his sideburns, almost in the shape of a smile. The two lines were directly where the tendrils had cut into him in his nightmare. Jeff touched his face. The welts felt feverishly hot, but the rest of the skin on his face was clammy and cold. He took a deep breath and bit his lip, running his fingers through his hair.

“I was probably…scratching or pulling on my face or something while I was sleeping. That’s why it looks like that…That's why I had that dream.” He gripped the roots of his hair, trying his best to self-soothe. The more he woke up, the more he felt embarrassed at the thought of an external force causing him harm. He turned the sink faucet on, and splashed cold water onto his face. When his gaze fell back on his reflection, the marks went away, and he had black lines running down his face from his ruined eyeliner. He took a makeup wipe out of the pack in the vanity drawer, cleaned his eyes, and tied his hair up into a low bun. He then snuck back to his room and returned to peaceful sleep for the rest of the night.

WOW YOU MADE IT THIS FAR YOU TROOPER!! GO TO PART TWO!!!

[atinystraynstay]

Black Eye - Hansol Chwe

"I'm on my worst behavior."

Pairing: non-idol! Hansol Chwe x fem reader

Genre: Angst - running into an ex; established relationship w/ Vernon

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: PG 13 - physical violence, insults said by ex

——————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

There are parts of every person they wished they could forget, erase from their history. You weren’t an exception to that, nobody is. You found comfort when it comes to exploring your past when you look at your present and future.

Specifically, when you look to the person across from you. Vernon. You and Vernon have been dating for two years, been through highs and lows together. He was someone that filled your world with hope and light, even if he couldn’t see the impact of his presence in your life. He couldn’t comprehend how being with him made such a difference. If anything, he knew that without you, his world would be dark. He just couldn’t understand how he could have a similar impact.

Yet, knowing your own history, you knew it was true. You had never been with a guy as a gentle soul. He took pleasure in the simple things in life. He still finds an excuse to spoil you now and then, though. Vernon was your breath of fresh air after all the storms you've weathered.

Tonight, you were celebrating a huge milestone - your one-year anniversary. Not only was this important for you and Vernon, but it was huge to you. You never thought you would get to experience a love like the one you two have. In your previous relationships, you either never reached the one-year mark or were with a partner that never thought of it as a big deal worth celebrating.

Vernon had to celebrate. Not just because it was something you wanted to do, but because he wanted to. You were a blessing in his life. He didn't want you to be unaware of that fact. If he could, he would scream his love for you on the highest mountain top.

"You look absolutely breathtaking, y/n," he commented. "You do every day!" He quickly added. "But tonight, you look radiant."

You couldn't help but giggle at his words. Seeing the slight panic and hearing the rush of words was one of the qualities you adored about Vernon. He never wanted to have his words be misinterpreted, so he was quick to clarify anything he said that might come across differently. He was hyperaware when it came to other people's emotions which was a quality you were quite used to in your other partners.

Your left hand reached across the table to rest on top of his. Your fingers gently caress over his knuckles. "Thank you, baby. You look handsome as ever," you gushed softly.

He looked down at his outfit for the evening, making his signature raised eyebrow expression. He was wearing a simple black tee shirt with a silver chain and matching black jeans. His leather jacket hung over the back of the seat you were sitting in, so if you got cold, you could easily slip it on.

In Vernon's eyes, he was nothing compared to you. You were wearing a dark blue mini-dress with flowy sleeves that were cuffed at the wrist. Vernon never expected you to get dressed up for him, but he always appreciated the effort. If anything, tonight he felt underdressed for you. But seeing the way you were looking at him, like he was your whole universe, put him at ease. All Vernon wanted was to make you proud of him.

The waiter came over and introduced himself. You kept a warm smile, trying to be polite. You knew the realities of working in the service industry, so you tried to extend extra patience and understanding when you could. That's just one of the qualities Vernon adored about you. He was convinced your heart was made out of gold.

"Good evening, Mr. Chwe, I have the wine you selected for the evening if you two are ready?"

You looked over at Vernon, an eyebrow raised. He only winked at you before nodding to the waiter. It was then revealed your favorite red wine, a semi-sweet Lambrusco you two enjoyed on your first date. You couldn't believe he remembered.

The waiter poured the two glasses for you as you kept your eyes on your lover. He really was full of surprises. "I will give you two a moment before coming back for your dinner choices," the waiter announced. Vernon only slightly nodded to acknowledge he heard something from him which caused you to giggle. It was like your first date all over again - unable to take your eyes off the other person, curious about the other person.

Vernon cleared his throat and fixed his posture. "To us," he announced, raising his glass slightly. "To us," you whispered.

"So what's the occasion?"

Your whole body ran cold. Vernon picked up on how your body got rigid just by watching you. He felt his senses become more alert as he set his glass down. You followed suit before looking over your shoulder, hoping not to confirm your biggest concert.

Yet, to your disappointment, there he was. Your ex. He was sitting in the table beside you. You must not have noticed that he had gotten sat there due to the waiter in the way. This was your first time that you saw your ex since you two broke up. And what a messy break-up it was.

"What's wrong, y/n? You don't look happy to see me?" He said with a sickening sweet smile. "And who do you think you are?" Vernon asked. "Oh, you haven't been told about me? Y/n, how rude."

You felt your blood begin to boil and your stomach churn. You looked over at Vernon who looked like he was fuming. But it wasn't at you. His gaze was locked in on your ex sitting beside you at the opposite table. "Baby, this is my ex." "Woah, I'm just an ex? And this is your boyfriend? Bro, I'm sorry," your ex laughed.

It was then your eyes started to get glossy. Your gaze turned to be locked on the table in front of you. That was one of the reasons you decided to call quits with your ex in the first place. He had an awful tendency to humiliate people through humor. He never stopped to think that his words could be more deadly than a knife.

"And I'm sorry you lost the greatest woman alive, but hey, that means I won, right?"

Your eyes widened slightly at Vernon but your smile grew. He looked at you and felt satisfied seeing you a bit better. Vernon was determined not to let this asshole ruin your evening. He squeezed your hand three times before directing his full attention to you. That seemed to get your ex to back off a bit before turning towards his own company for the evening.

You knew you might have some explaining to do later to Vernon, to give more context. At the moment, that was the last thing you wanted to do. Your ex worked in sick ways, finding ways to lie and manipulate anything said. Your priority was celebrating your anniversary with the most amazing man alive.

"So are we celebrating anything important tonight?" The waiter asked upon approaching your table.

Vernon smiled brightly as he kept his eye contact with you. You blushed slightly under his gaze which caused him to chuckle. "We're celebrating our one year anniversary," he proudly announced.

Unlike your ex, Vernon never failed to make sure everyone knew his pride in being yours. You didn't like to compare the two as Vernon always went above and beyond. Tonight, you couldn't help but do so with your ex being in too close of a proximity. If anything though, it made you even more appreciative for Vernon.

He went ahead and placed your dinner orders for the two of you. The whole time, you kept your gaze on your lover. You could tell that he had gotten a haircut for the evening which made you smile a bit more. You couldn't believe that you finally found someone that truly put effort into the relationship. It blew you away the Vernon did little things like buy milk when he used the last of it, or when he would send you $7 through Venmo so you could buy a coffee and a muffin. He treated you like a princess.

The waiter nodded as he quickly jotted down your order. Sensing that you two wanted to focus each other, he wanted to get out of the way as soon as possible. He collected the menus as Vernon said a quick thank you.

You went to take another sip of your red wine when you heard that nauseating voice from beside you.

"One year anniversary? You were able to keep her entertained for that long? You sure she isn't sleeping with someone else behind your back?" Your ex inquired.

You nearly spit the red wine out of your mouth. He can't be serious. This was your worst nightmare. You looked at Vernon who was glancing between the two of you. You prayed that Vernon could see through the lies. Your ex has been notorious in spreading rumors that caused others to leave you, them choosing to believe a stranger over you.

"I don't know who the fuck you think you are right now, but you're crossing a line," Vernon said, his voice lower than usual.

"Look, bro. I'm just trying to give you a heads up. Wouldn't want you to waste your time on a slut like her."

That crossed the line for Vernon. Nobody should speak that poorly on another person. Especially when it came to you, nobody should disrespect you like that. You quickly rose from his seat across from you, making his way between the two tables so he was standing in front of your ex and blocking you.

"Mind repeating what you said?" "Like I said, I know how amazing her pus-"

Vernon didn't even let your ex finish that sentence. The next thing you knew, Vernon's fist collided with the face of your ex. You and your ex's date for the evening let out a gasp. She got up quickly, running to get the host of the restaurant while you sat there in shock.

"What the fuck?" Your ex shouted.

Soon, all the patrons in the restaurant were looking towards your direction. Your eyes were locked on Vernon. Everyone watched as Vernon picked up the white collar your ex was wearing, causing him to stand up from the table. In the process, your ex bumped into the table causing silverware and the glasses of water to fall onto the table.

"I'm so glad my girl decided to dump your loser ass. That's how you speak to women? What a sad excuse of a man," Vernon spat.

He dropped your ex back in his seat. Vernon stepped out of the way to get behind you. You glanced back, seeing him motion for you to stand up. "Come on, darling, we're leaving." With the look he was giving you, you knew there was no room to protest. You stood up as Vernon moved your chair back, making it easier to move. That was when you got the first glance of the black eye your ex would have. For now, it was already becoming red and purple from the hard punch.

"Don't look, baby. I know it's hard, but let's just focus on getting out of here," Vernon murmured from behind you. You nodded your head which caused him to press a kiss to your head, thankful for your compliance and your trust in him. He lifted his leather jacket off the back of the chair before holding it out so you could quickly slip your arms inside. He also grabbed your purse, deciding to carry it for you or maybe just because it would get the two of you out of there sooner.

Your ex's date came running back with the host and a few waiters who assumedly were there to try to breakup whatever fight. They all paused when they saw your ex holding his nose while you and Vernon were getting ready to head out.

Vernon grabbed a hold of your hand, slipping his finger in between yours. He squeezed your hand through the tight grip he had. It wasn't bone crushing, but it was enough to enforce he was taking the lead. He began leading you two out of the establishment.

Before you crossed into the main lobby, he turned toward your ex's date. "Unlike your ex, I want to apologize. I am sorry if my actions have ruined your evening. I'm not sorry for what I did though," he said. His voice was oddly calm despite the events that just unfolded.

He apologized also to the employees of the restaurant before he rushed you two of there. You leaned in close to him, just hoping that your ex would get the idea not to come chasing after the two of you.

Once you were outside of the restaurant, you stopped walking. Vernon felt the slight tug from your body which caused him to turn around. Both of his hands quickly cupped your face, eyes scanning for any sign of you being hurt, whether it be physical, emotional, or mental.

"I'm sorry, y/n, but I couldn't stand the way he spoke about you," Vernon sighed. He felt guilty that he ruined your evening, especially one of such high importance. You had looked forward to this evening all week, but he let his anger get the best of him.

"I'm sorry too," you frowned. "Sorry?" Vernon looked at you confused, eyebrows furrowed. "Babe, what do you have to apologize for? You had no idea your ex was going to be there." "No, but I feel like I have to apologize for him. I never told you about him because I was embarrassed of him-"

"Baby girl, that's nothing to apologize for." Vernon's voice was back to its softer tone. You peered up at him, wanting to say more but deciding to stay silent so you could hear Vernon out. He wrapped one arm around your waist, the other remaining so his thumb could stroke your cheek. The touch was light yet helped ease your emotions slightly. He always knew the little things to help ease your mind.

"If you want to tell about the people you used to date, then I am more than happy to listen. But I don't want you to feel like you're obligated to just because he decided to speak up," he explained. "That's in the past, and you're my future."

For the time being, you were going to still keep details from you past a secret. Just for tonight. Tonight, you still wanted to focus on you and Vernon. He was your present and future, your everything. That's all that matters.

"Now, come on. I'm not even sure what I was thinking by making reservations at this place," Vernon laughed. "I think we should just go to the diner around the corner to relive our first date. Burgers, fries, and a vanilla milkshake sound a lot better anyways."

And it was the best anniversary celebration you ever imagined. You guys sat in the same booth where your first date happened. You laughed about your ex before shifting the conversation on the remainder of the evening on how far you've come as a couple.

Nothing else mattered besides the two of you.

[gettinshiggywithit]

hiii!! can u do chuuya x reader who likes painting? fem reader or gn i dont mind! 🫶🏾

!Chuuya With An S/O Who Likes To Paint!

Scenario:- hcs of chuuya with an s/o who loves painting!

Pairing:- chuuya x gn!reader

Genre:- fluff

Type:-headcanons

A/N:-HI ANON AND THANK YOU FOE THE REQUEST!ik its late but I hope you like it!pls feel free to lmk your thoughts on it!

I feel like chuuya definitely appreciates the arts,so if you liked painting he’d totally be supportive!

As a hobby or even if you wanted to do it professionally,he wants you to follow your dream and be happy

I feel like he’d be the perfect reference for like poses and things,if that makes sense????? Like his figure and stature just seem perfect in that way for me!

Wouldn’t mind bein your reference tbh.he loves your art anyway and him bein able to be that much of an integral part in it would probably make him smile internally!

Yall go on lil days out to buy supplies and even he takes a look around the place and falls in just as much love with it as you do(was it because the place elicited so much joy from you that it brightened the entire city???? Maybe~)

If there are lil tools and stuff he wants to know the use of he’ll just ask you straight away.

Eventually you get him to agree to try it!

So that day you pick out an extra canvas or water colour pad and some paints,brushed and the whole shebang for him and you go home with everything gathered in your arms!

I feel like chuuya is definitely a doodler so he starts with that,just doodling on maybe a watercolour pad and painting it in.

Baby steps ofc.

Vent painting sessions!

Like when the both of you cant sleep or are feeling particularly stressed,you’ll go over to your supplies and paint out your feelings!

This is one of the only times he manages to outdo you!

We all know chuuya’s expressive,and he kinda basically wears his heart on his sleeve,in a sense; so naturally, he was great at expressing his emotions.

The colours on his canvas blended perfectly and the aggressive strokes just added to the effect!

He’d effectively depicted his feelings before you, and the result was just as beautiful as he was~

Wine and painting

Like on calmer nights yall just grab ur paints and he pours out glasses of wine for you both(IF YOU ARENT AT THE LEGAL DRINKIN AGE IN YOUR COUNTRY, YOU GET A MOCKTAIL OR NON ALCOHOLIC BEVERAGE)

Its a great way to unwind and let loose tbh,maybe you’ll even have some music playing in the background to suit your mood.

Your shared apartment has paintings EVERYWHERE

Like all over the walls,in the toilet , and honestly anywhere it could be displayed tbh!

You make sure to hang his ones up aswell ,and in places where they’ll be completely visible too!

Okay no but like,imagine him in a loose white shirt and his hair in a messy bun???his sleeves rolled up and paint just all over his arms and some on his clothes and face???? And he doesnt even knoe because he’s so concentrated on what he’s doing????

(GODDAMIT WHY DO I DO THIS TO MYSELF NOW I CANT STOP IMAGINING HIM LIKE THAT!)

Painting and personalising plain clothes and tee shirts for eachother!

Oh and havin your own specific clothes for painting sometimes? Like these clothes have random paint splotches on em and stuff!

OH IMAGINE like chuuya gets late to come home or hes on long mission and since you miss him a little you wear his shirt and start painting (if you’re bigger than him,then you wear it as like an overshirt or tie it around your waist{honestly anything to make it feel like hes there})

And then he walks in the door and you go up to hug and welcome him

He notices its his shirt and smirks before leaning into kiss you saying, “Missed me that much huh?”

Ooh little paint fights would be ADORABLE like you put a dot of paint on his cheek and he then puts one on you and it goes back and worth until you’re both just a laughing mess on the floor.

Honestly chuuya with a reader who paints has now blessed my mind so thank you anon!

__________________________________________

Tagging: @kajiyashikiazeru

All rights reserved © 2023 gettinshiggywithit . Please do not repost, modify or claim as yours.

[onlygenxhere]

The Parents He Deserves

Luke rang the doorbell and pulled his collar away from his neck for the third time since he’d gotten out of the car.

To say he was nervous was an understatement.

Rose opened the door looking ready for a quiet evening in with her husband dressed in baggy sweats rolled down at the waist and up at her ankles, probably Ray’s, and an old band t-shirt. She was holding a glass of red wine and she smiled at him, like she always did, when she saw him standing there.

“Luke! What are you doing here?” She waved him in before he could answer.

“Sorry to bother you guys,” he fiddled with the flowers in his hand he was trying not to crush. “Here,” he said pushing them toward her. “These are for you.”

“Thank you Luke,” she laughed as she sat her wine down on the table by the door and took them from him. She buried her nose in the petals taking a long whiff, “Dahlias, my favorite.”  

“Hey Luke,” Ray came around the corner from the kitchen dressed down like his wife in sweats and a plain black tee wiping his hands on a towel and giving him the same easy grin he’d been giving him for years.

He cringed realizing he was probably interrupting their dinner.

“What are you doing here? I thought you and the guys were having a boy’s night, that’s what Julie told us before she headed out with Flynn and Carrie.” He said stopping in front of him and tossing the towel on his shoulder.

That had been the story he told Julie but she was the only one of their friends that thought that’s what he was actually doing tonight.

It’d be a miracle if no one spilled the beans before he got to the real reason he was lying to his girlfriend, but one step at a time.

He bounced on his heels. “I need to talk to the two of you if you have a minute.”

“Ok,” Ray said glancing at Rose who bit back a smile before turning back to him.

“Come on in the living room Luke and tell us how we can help.” she said nodding in that direction.

He nodded in return and followed them down the hall to the family room he’d spent many nights hanging out with Julie and her family watching movies and playing games.

Rose laid the flowers on the coffee table and took a seat on the sofa next to Ray. They both looked up at him as he continued to stand across from them.

He thought he might vibrate out of his skin if he stopped moving.

He just needed to get this out.

“Luke?” Rose was grinning at him again. “You seem to have something important to ask us.”

“He does?” Ray sat up a little straighter and frowned at his wife.

“Ray…” she rolled her eyes. “He’s wearing a shirt with sleeves.”

Luke only peripherally noticed Ray raise his eyebrows at Rose as he started to pace back and forth in front of them pulling at his collar again and giving in to his need to move. This was the first time he truly understood why Alex paced when he was anxious.

Luke had never been more anxious in his life.

“Mijo?” Ray questioned.

He’d had a plan, a speech but he couldn’t recall a word of it now.

“Luke, carino,” Rose called him back from his racing thoughts.

“I’m sorry,” he stopped in front of them and ran a shaky hand through his hair. “I don’t know why I’m so nervous.” Actually he did know. He’d already been by his parent’s house and told them his news and they had not taken it well at all.

He stopped pacing and really looked at Rose and Ray Molina sitting on their sofa, holding hands, calmly waiting for him to tell them why he was here.

He took a deep breath and reminded himself, not for the first time, that they were not Emily and Mitch Patterson.

“I’m planning to ask Julie to marry me and I’d like your blessing.”

Rose screamed and jumped up climbing over the coffee table to pull him into a hug. “Of course mijo!” she leaned back to grin at him. “Of course you have our blessing!” Then she pulled him into an even tighter hug.

Luke was still laughing at Rose’s exuberance when he felt Ray’s hand on his shoulder and turned to look up at the big man. He had tears in his eyes.

“Mijo,” he put his arms around both him and his wife. “We’ve known this day was coming since you followed Julie home from her first day of high school.”

“Yeah?” He chuckled.

It was true that he’d been completely smitten with Julie from the very first day she set foot in Los Fez and his music class. He’d been a little in love with her before she’d even opened her mouth. Captivated by her smile, her eyes and the way she looked around the room like she was assessing who she wanted to work with. Like she wasn’t the new kid but had been there all along. He’d never known anyone with that much confidence with their music, besides himself, before that day.

Then she’d sat down at the piano and he was hers if she’d have him.

“Of course Luke,” Ray smiled down at him, his arms still wrapped around him and Rose. “A blind man could see how much you love our ninita.”

Luke nodded his eyes filling up with tears. He did love her. God he loved her, more than anyone but apparently that wasn’t enough for his parents.

He swallowed the lump in his throat. “You don’t think we’re too young?”

“No mijo.” Rose shook her head as she reached up and wiped the tear that has escaped down his cheek. “I was only a year older than Julie when Ray and I got married.” She grinned at Ray over his head. “The only reason I wasn’t younger was because we’d only known each other a year.”

“Luke,” Ray squeezed his shoulder. “You’re both adults and we will support your decisions.”

He bit his lip and nodded.

They were adults no matter what his mother said. He had a place with the guys and a job. The band was booking more gigs every week and Julie would be graduating early from college in just a few months.

All of them worked so hard to make their dreams come true but none more than Julie. He was so proud of her and she inspired him every day to be a better man.

He had no doubt they’d have a recording contract within the year and he wanted her to be his wife when they made it big. Why couldn’t his parents see that?

“Thank you both.” He took a deep breath trying to calm back down from the anticipation of telling them about the proposal. He was going to propose no matter what they’d said but having their blessing meant the world to him and he knew it would mean the world to Julie.

“Your support means so much.” He looked back and forth between them and smiled. “It always has.”

Rose kissed him on the cheek, making him laugh, before stepping back. “Of course Luke,” she grabbed his hand and pulled him back toward the kitchen. “No matter what happens, you and Julie will always have a place here.”

“Where are you taking me?” he smiled as she kept pulling him out of the room.

She winked, “To eat.”

He looked back at Ray who was just standing back up from retrieving Rose’s flowers she's knocked off the coffee table in her rush to get to him. “I don’t want to disrupt your evening even more than I already have.”

“Nonsense!” Ray waved away his worry. “Stay and catch us up on what’s been going on with you, Reggie and Alex.”

He chuckled. It had been a while since they’d all been over to visit. Julie’s time was already split between school, him, the band and her parents so even she probably didn’t know everything that was going on with the guys right now.

Rose tugged on his hand pulling his attention back to her as they entered the kitchen, “And maybe tell us how you’re planning to propose?”

He bit back a grin as she left him sitting at the kitchen table while she moved around grabbing the food off the counters and Ray pulled out a vase to put the flowers in.

Maybe his parents hadn’t reacted the way he’d hoped they would when he told them he was going to ask Julie to marry him but Ray and Rose had more than made up for their disapproval with their overwhelming support.

Just like they always did.

He hoped on day his parents would see what he saw in his future.

“So…” Ray passed him a bowl full of rice. “Is Alex going to propose to Willie anytime soon?”

“Oh! Double wedding!” Rose exclaimed as she took the bowl from him.

He laughed.

If his own parents never came around he already had the best parents in the world, who would officially be his parents too one day soon… if Julie said yes.

This was inspired by @missjoolee's fic If You Could Only See

[jennomess]

Well. My bf finally stayed the night after a bit more than a week of not seeing each other, now ninety something recovered. My body is unsure about getting sick or not, and I freaking dreamed again

Oh, and i think he'd be a damn cute caretaker??

Yesterday night we were walking home from the concert he just had, he changed his suit(?) for a jogger and a t-shirt, we're in spring so the weather is nicer but still a bit windy. He was telling me:

Bf: "Look, now you see me in tees again"

J: "Oh, yeah right! And, did you bring your jacket or, not?"

Bf: "Nah, I'm fine now"

J: "But, don't you needed to take another shot today? Careful not to fall sick again"

Bf: "Nah, it would be weird for me to get sick again"

J: "Well, now you have to be careful with me"

Bf: "I don't know, by this point i should have some of your antibodies" (??? i still don't get it)

J: "Hm??" (He explained it to me but i don't want to write what i don't remember)

Bf: "Anyways, at some point you took care of me, so, now it would be my turn"

And he started to play with this embarassing questions like "Would you like the soup in the bed?" "Would you like me to feed you soup?" "Would you like me to cover you with a blanket? "Would you like me to tuck you up in bed?" "Would you like me to tell you a story until you fall asleep?"

All of those while i punched his shoulder and barked at him to shut up after each one. He could have been joking but in his tone i also felt like he would mean them, and i barked to him with love and embarassment. At the end he told me something along the lines of "But you know what? If the time comes i would do it... I would /like to/ take care of you" with cute meaningful eyes. My fcking heart.

When we got home I ended up deciding -just when he's practically done with his cold or whatever, boo- that it didn't matter if i catch it bc if i have to catch something it needs to be rn, i need time to get through it and recover, i have important things to do in two weeks, so, we had a good night

When we went to sleep he took the big spoon this time, and well, we slept. The fact that i got to try the aromatic candle and it didn't work even burning beside us for all it's short life didn't go away, apparently feeding my fantasies, or not fantasies (?) hell, it was so so similar to reality that i don't even know if it was a dream or not 😣

It was that, just like then, he was the big spoon and we were sleeping, then i wake up by the feeling of a soft and quick movement behind me, as if he were pulling apart, and after a second i hear a half stifle and feel more movement, as if he were stretching his free arm as soon as he finished the little rock after his sneeze to camuflage what just happened.

I was, oof, my head was screaming internally "was that a stifle behind me!?" In between my sleep, and playing with the fact that "this was so close! This was so close to the Classico scenario where B sneezes in A's back!!! AHHHH" i swear that i felt the darkness of my closed eyes spinning in my head, and i couldn't freaking move!! I could do nothing about how i felt down there 🫠 and i even remember trying to get the note out of that stifle! It wasn't a C, i remember thinking more of a C#, then idk why later i also started thinking about it being a B but, aaahhhhg.

I also remember pressing my lips internally swallowing a "bless you" bc i didn't know if i should, and bc of how I'm resigned to deny every sound that is not his voice in our nightly videocalls i also doubted if it was a sneeze, and also wondered if i could ask at that moment, or how to, if i could ask about it in the morning, thinking it wouldn't make sense bc it could happen that he didn't remember, or ir would be to embarassing bc who- why would a sane person ask if that sound and movement in the middle of the night was you sneezing? What do a person gets out of it? Does it pass as plain curiosity? I don't, in my fet ashamed mind, think it does. And then i woke up to the sound of the 7am alarm, in his arms, being the small spoon.

And that's how, dear snzblr, now i don't know if it was real or if was a dream.

🫠

[rogertaylorsprettyvoice]

nda: I have no idea what I'm supposed to say, there's no title, no description, no end to this kinky piece, enjoy (maybe).

TW: drug use, very explicit.

He was blessed with the voice of an angel, he sounded like a mythical creature, the favourite of the Gods. I was mezmerised by the rasp of his low voice and the clear sound of his falsettos. He was hitting the notes just right. He was hitting me just about right. Everytime he opened his mouth and came close to the microphone, I felt on the edge of a cliff, and I had only one thought in mind : falling. Please, I was begging, I want to fall. In your voice, in your arms, in your soul. Bring me down with you, I can’t bare the edging. Everytime a sound would leave his throat, I could feel, for just a singular moment, not one more, him inside of me, overwhelming me with his grandiosity. The feeling was burning me, eating me alive. The warmth between my legs would not stop intensifying because I refused to look anywhere else than his wet mouth. When he stuck his tongue out, I grasped for air. I could only imagine what he was capable of doing with his lizzard-like tongue. And his hands. Oh my god. I did not notice his hands. Nor the way he was holding the long sticks so firmly. I felt the muscular tension in his entire body, hitting his drums, moving his head on rythm with the song, performing with his whole body and all of it, this building tension, came out as the most perfect high pitch sound. I felt like I could die, right now, looking at him, feeling him all over me, his sweat, his soul-cracking voice, both of his veiny hands holding me in the air as I’m waiting for the sky to fall upon me.

I was wondering how this man could have ended on Earth. I knew that I wasn’t supposed to feel what I was feeling, but I just couldn’t stop myself, nor did I want to restrain myself. His wild blonde wavy hair covering his face as he played brought some of the tension up to my chest, a strange tinggling feeling covering my breast. I was not wearing a bra, and I could feel my nipples harden through my tee-shirt. I just knew by looking at him that it would turn him on. He would not be able to look away from my white slightly see-through crop top. Maybe it would turn him on so much that he would want me to keep it, but he seemed like the kind of guy to like looking at boobs while he fucked you. I was drooling. Fuck. Fuck me right now. Please. Use that pretty voice of yours to tell me obsenities. But I just can’t look away now. The only sound resonating was the beat of the drums, he was hitting them so smoothly and yet with so much strenght. And when the music stops, he talks, and I feel like he’s looking at me with his big blue doll eyes saying “The next one is really loud”, like he knows how horny I am right now, telling me “Hold on tight, love. Soon I’ll make you go loud.”

And that’s what he did. He did not seem surprised at all when I found my way to his dressing room. I saw Roger’s name and knocked. He had been waiting for me all this time. He was still in his attire, a red open shirt sitting nicely on his shoulders, revealing his flesh. On the opposite side of the room, I was standing still, closed door behind me, with my hard nipples pointing right at him through my shirt. I was right, he couldn’t look away. He kept staring at me, stripping me with his gaze. Without a single word, he invites me to sit on his on one of his laps, his legs were so open, directing his crotch at me. So I sit down, quitley, I nod, he reaches for a glass plate covered in fairy dust. I could still see my reflection through the white lines he drew just a second ago, like a true artist. He sniffs one line, hands the mirror plate to me. I sniff too. One big line. I feel some pressure in my cavities but it doesn’t take me a long time to fucking feel everything. I am so horny right now just by the way he's staring at my lips, I feel how he wants to shove it deep inside my throat, feel the wetness and warmth of it. He brings his hand to my pretty face and uses his thumb to clean my poudered nose. He then puts it in my mouth. He puts it deep, deep, deeper, and I suck it because oh my god I am loving this I don’t ever want it to stop. “Hearing my voice made you this horny, love?”

I let out a sigh while he’s still in my mouth. He must have noticed because he raises an eyebrow and smiles very slightly while taking it out. He puts his two veiny hands, oh my god his hands, on my broad hips and grabs me so I can climb on top of him. I feel my pulse pounding in my pussy as soon as I sense how hard his crotch is. Yet all I can seem to think about are his beautiful soft lips. They look so silky and pink, and they must taste so good. “Roger, I would give anything for just one kiss.” I whine and he looks satisfied knowing how much power he has on me. He humidifies them. It’s like he’s doing it to my lips, my lower lips, but no, he’s only licking his own and stares, once again, at my chest. Just like I imagined, he is tourmented : hard nipples pointing through a see-through tee-shirt, or bouncy naked breast while fucking. I can feel how worked up he is by now. His pants are looking dangerously tigh, like he’s about to explode right now. And as I was staring at his crotch, he holds my breast with both of his hands and brings his wet mouth to me. I feel his tongue on my hard nipples, I fucking feel him making me wet. He lets his saliva all over my shirt and gives me a taste of what torture means to him. I look down on him and meet his vicious eyes, I am whining, I want him to suck on my tits. He must feel this unbearable tension because he lifts my white shirt up and I let out the most beautiful moan when his tongue encounters my pinkish nipple. I moan, and I touch his hair, his beautiful blonde hair, I can't believe I'm touching his gorgeous hair, and it's so soft, like foam. My boobs feel so big right now in his mouth. He is licking all over them with his very long tongue. I moan again and let out a whine when I feel him bite my nipple. It's so much, too much, and yet it doesn't feel like I’ve had enough. I haven't fallen yet. I want more from him, I want his filthy hands all over me.

“You look so good” he says with his raspy voice. I didn't know my cheeks could feel any hotter but my face was burning. I glance at him while I can't help to let out louder moans but I want more. I need more. I need to feel him. He seems surprised when I hold his face while I get up to face him. My boobs feel so tight and my nipples so hard and wet, but looking at him makes me forget about everything. I get down on my knees and observe him while I open his pants, his very tight pants. But I can't look away. He is staring at me with his pretty eyes and he looks so fuckable with his blonde messy hair. Before I even realize it, he gets up and rips off his pants to show me his cock. It really feels like he wanted to show me how big it was and how good looking and how gorgeous and so him. His cock looked so slutty and needy. I found that little drop of precum so so hot. It's like it was whining for me. He takes his penis in his hand and points it at my mouth, already open and wet and warm for him. He stared deep into my eyes before asking “Do you want me to fuck your pretty mouth pretty hard?” and it made me drool. “Yes Roger” was all I could say and it was enough for him to shove it in my throat.

[hxneyfarm]

swallowing hand grenades

wc: 601 | cw: mention of passive self harm, description of internalized meltdowns, references to parental violence | autistic eddie munson, inspired by the meltdown i had at work today

All his life, Eddie has been swallowing hand grenades.

At least, that’s what it feels like when everything around him is too bright, too loud, too hot, too cold, too itchy, and the tapping of his fingers against the table or the bouncing of his leg beneath the table isn’t enough to stop the explosion that’s building behind his eyes. When he was little, his mother taught him to internalize his explosions so he doesn’t turn out like his dad with his violent angry outbursts that left fist shaped holes in the drywall. 

The flooding of his overwhelmed senses always feels like he’s holding a hand grenade without a pin, and if he throws it the shrapnel will go everywhere and cause destruction in its wake, so... He swallows it, keeps the shrapnel inside where it won’t hurt anybody but himself. And most times it doesn’t even hurt him, not really. It leaves behind an ache that he doesn’t have a name for, a bone deep exhaustion that'll knock him out and let him finally get some of that blessed, blessed sleep that escapes him, more nights than not.

His mom used to say he was full of nervous energy, like a chihuahua or a Jack Russell terrier, but the older Eddie gets the less he believes that. It’s not really that he’s nervous. Sometimes, sure, that's what it is. But usually it’s the buzzing of the too-bright fluorescents overhead and the murmured conversations happening around him that sound like bugs. It’s the itch of the tag at the back of his tee shirt and the fact that one of his shoes is tied just a little more tightly than the other. It’s the furnace that kicks on in the middle of class and blows thick, hot air down on his scalp and makes his hairline sweat.

It’s the panic that rises like bile when he realizes he forgot the homework again, third time this week, and the teacher is looking at him with an arched brow and that lip curled in a sneer.

He can’t sit still, but he can’t rock side to side the way he wants or everybody’s gonna fucking look at him funny again. He can’t chew on the inside of his cheek because there’s barely anything left of the skin in there. He can’t bite his thumbnail anymore because he bit it down to the quick earlier and made it bleed. He can’t pick at his eyebrows anymore because if he goes home again with half an eyebrow missing Wayne is gonna have that look in his eye, that worried look he gets when he starts suggesting things like maybe a counselor…

So Eddie excuses himself to the bathroom and locks himself in a stall and he swallows the hand grenade, lets it pop in his tummy as he takes his rings off and shakes his hands out, flaps them a little bit so that he can start to feel human again. He presses a palm to each temple and squeezes, imagines the top of his head splitting to let all the gunk out, a pimple that’ll scab over later, one he won’t be able to resist picking at again until it bleeds.

In a few years, when he finally lets Wayne talk him into counseling, Eddie will have the language for this. He’ll know that these aren’t anxiety attacks, they’re meltdowns. He’ll know that they happen when he’s overstimulated and has nowhere to put that building feeling behind his eyes. He’ll have methods to cope with them.

Until then, Eddie will keep swallowing hand grenades.

[onboardsorasora]

I’ve been thinking of omega Daniel in the reclamation verse and meeting Jules. That baby is nesting and not letting Jules leave his sight

Daniel is in his apartment sifting through his laundry, trying to find the sheets and blankets and pillows for his nest that smell like Max. Nothing smells like Max and its kinda disconcerting. There is this other scent though, its familiar but Daniel couldnt quite place it.

He's sat on his bed frustrated, when he hears the door open. The sound of keys tinking in the ceramic bowl and shoes being taken off. Then that scent... Daniel furrowed his brow.

"Do you remember to confirm with Sewis about- why are you looking at me like that? Do I have something on my face?" Jules patted his cheeks while Daniel continued to stare at him dumbfounded. A pillow thumps to the floor from his loose grip.

"Is that a new shirt?" Jules asked before heading into the kitchen. Clearly Daniel needed a minute, and fair, a lot has been going on recently since Daniel took over the brewery. He was allowed to be a bit frazzled.

"I- no. I designed this last year- am I going crazy right now?" Daniel muttered before taking a big breath. "you smell almost the same, not quite the same...so you're not my Jules." Daniel watching his movements like a hawk, drinking in the unfamiliar but achingly familiar sight of his best friend looking through his fridge, then his cabinet then fridge again. It seems that in every universe at least- Jules was the same.

"You designed it? Is that your new side hustle?" Jules was talking into the fridge like a normal person. Daniel bit his lip so he didn't cry. This wasn't his Jules but it was still Jules.

"Y-yeah. gonna start a clothing brand." Daniel said softly, he smiled when Jules gave up his quest for food and looked over at him.

"You wanna order like a pizza or a fried chicken burger? I'm starving." Jules took his phone out to open the food app.

"Yeah sure, order me whatever." Daniel grabbed up the sheets and blankets and moved to the couch. Things didn't smell like Max for some reason, but they smelled like Jules and this was an opportunity that Daniel was not going to give up. Not on his life.

The nest wasn't the best by his standards; he didn't have his regular things on hand and he wasn't about to make a stink about it. It wasn't perfect, but it would be comfortable. Because it wasn't the nest that mattered, it was Jules.

"Wanna watch something while we wait?" Daniel asked, standing by the transformed couch, shifting from leg to leg almost antsily.

"Yeah sure, that movie you wanted to watch should be on Netlfix now." Jules walked over and plopped onto the couch, in the middle of the nest. He shuffled a little before propping his arm up on one of the pillows Daniel put for that very reason. "Hey this is extra comfy, figured out some new tricks recently? I ordered you a fried chicken burger bee tee dubs."

Daniel grinned and sat beside his best friend, staring at his profile while he used the remote to navigate the tv.

"Why are you staring all of a sudden. Don't tell me you fancy me now? You waited too long Ricciardo, you'll have to duel to the death with Liz" Jules flicked an imaginary lock of hair over his shoulder and Daniel cackled.

"Yeah Nah, Liz can keep you. God bless her for putting up with your ass. I just missed you is all, you asshole." Daniel bumped their shoulders together.

"Bro I was barely gone for a weekend." Jules rolled his eyes, "I missed you too." He flung an arm over Daniel's shoulder and the omega took another deep breath, committing this Jules to memory. The familiar ba bum of netflix signalled the show start.

[softsnzstuff]

A Little Change of Plans

Wrote a little Valentines Day fic for @softersteve who requested some College Rowing AU Stede getting love and attention. Please enjoy this soft little ficlet. ~KB

February 14th. A day that had previously been just another day now carried meaning for Ed Teach. Now that the feelings between him and Stede were publicly known, the pair had been going on more dates.

Presently, they had plans today for a picnic and then cooking dinner and having a quiet night in. It happened to be ski week at university, which meant everyone was either back home for the week or on vacation with their friends. Ed and Stede had both opted to stay on campus as neither really had any family to go home to.

Ed had woken up and gotten dressed in some nice trousers with a light pink button down shirt. He was ruffling his hair in the bathroom mirror for the fifth time when a ringing filled the room. His phone lit up with a photo of Stede.

“Hey Valentine.”

The 23 year old winced away from the phone as he was met with raspy coughing on the other end of the line.

“Stede? You alright mate?”

Ed pressed the button switching to FaceTime. After a brief pause, Stede’s face pops on screen in real time, and he looks awful.

While Ed is fully dressed, Stede is still in bed, hair a mess and skin paler than usual.

“Hey Ed. You look so dapper!!” Stede beamed through tired eyes.

Ed set the phone on the counter so he could a fashionable twirl before picking it back up.

Stede had looked off to the side, half frozen before bringing an elbow up to his face. “H’mPTSCH! … ehTSCHiew!!”

“Bless you twice!” Ed’s face dropped as he took in how awful Stede really looked. “Alright?”

“I’m actually quite ill, I’m afraid.” The younger man reached for a tissue to dab at his nose. “I think I’m going to have to rain check our date.”

Ed nodded, “I understand.”

“I’m so sorry!” Stede offered, before coughing again, “I really wanted to see you.”

“It’s okay, really. Just rest up yeah? I love you.”

“Love you too.” Stede gave a weak smile and then the call ended.

Ed frowned, gutted about the plans, but feeling even worse that Stede was so sick and all by himself. He took off the trousers and button down and changed into some grey sweatpants and a pink tee shirt. He pocketed his wallet and headed out the door.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Two hours later, he was knocking on the door of the place Stede shared with Lucius. Lucius was back home with his family, but Ed knew Stede was present.

No sound came, and Ed was about to knock a second time when the door opened revealing a disheveled Stede. His blonde hair stuck up in every direction and his eyes were glassy as he scanned Ed.

“Edward!? What are you-?”

“Didn’t want you to be on your own… I brought you some stuff.” He mumbled, suddenly a bit embarrassed by the grand gesture. “Sorry… you probably wanted to be alone.”

“No no no.” Stede hushed, opening the door more and guiding Ed in by the small of his back. “Please come in.”

Ed followed Stede towards his bedroom, were the younger of the two climbed back into bed and wrapped his hoodie tighter around himself.

He perched on the edge of Stede’s bed and set down the little basket he’d been carrying.

“What have you got there?” Stede asked, nodding towards the basket.

“It’s just… some Valentine’s Day stuff.”

Ed started pulling things out one by one. A pink box of tissues, a bottle of red cough syrup, a zippy bag filled with some hastily decorated heart cookies, a pirate themed Valentine’s Day card, and a strawberry banana bottled smoothie.

Ed blushed as he looks up again to meet Stede’s gaze. The blonde was smiling from ear to ear, head tilted ever so slightly. He reached out to hold Ed’s hand. “This is all so thoughtful, Ed. Thank you.”

The two hugged for a decent amount of time until Stede had to pull back and turn away.

“ii’GSHhuu!” He sneezed rather desperately before a chesty cough bubbled up.

Ed held Steve’s arm, using his other hand to rub circles on Stede’s back. “Sounds like you’ve got the cold from hell, mate.”

“snff! It certainly feels that way.”

“My poor sick guy. Come here, love.”

Ed scooted closer to the head of the bed and leaned back, pulling Stede to rest his head on Ed’s chest. Ed ran a gentle hand through Stede’s hair, hand lingering on his forehead.

“You’re burning, babe.” Ed cooed.

“M’okay.” Stede mumbled, “Took some Tylenol before you got here. It should kick in soon.”

They lay in comfortable silence momentarily before the younger of the two groaned. “I’m sorry I ruined our Valentines Day plans.”

Ed pulled back to look at Stede. “You didn’t ruin anything. I wanted to spend time with you and here we are. This is exactly where I wanted to be.”

[peridotglimmer]

For the there was only one bed prompts: 13 for False and Cleo?

schaumi you have blessed me with this prompt, i love it so much. this uh turned out a lot longer than expected. count on me to suddenly write 1K of fluff. have some fluff featuring a pining idiot cleo. content warning for alcohol consumption. rated t due to cleo's vocabulary.

"I can take the floor?" "No it's alright, besides it's big enough for the both of us."

Suite Night

"Ugh." Cleo sighed, following False into the hotel suite. "I love X, but next time he and Keralis fall ill he can get someone else to fill in for him." She dropped her suitcase near the door. There was probably a stand somewhere, the hotel had four stars after all, but she couldn't be bothered. False chuckled.

"It's not that bad. The representatives weren't too bad this year!" She stretched, and her powder blue dress shirt came free from the waistband of her skirt, exposing the slightest strip of her bare abdomen. Cleo raised an eyebrow.

"We're we talking to the same idiots?" They walked up to False and pressed the back of their hand to the other woman's forehead. "You haven't got a fever, so you're not delirious. I counted three separate comments on your breasts, one on my arse, four zombie racists, and I stopped tallying the amount of times I got misgendered after seven." False's shoulders and face dropped, and Cleo immediately felt like biting her own tongue off.

"I really am sorry about that, Cleo. The sponsors, they're old money. Stuck in their ways."

"Even super glue has a solvent," Cleo muttered. They sighed. "Thank you for correcting them when I got tired of it, I do appreciate it." Smiling, False replied: "You're welcome."

"Well then." Cleo awkwardly cleared her throat. "I'm about ready to tear this penguin suit off and sleep for twelve glorious, uninterrupted hours before this circus starts all over again."

"Hm, I could go for a shower before bed." False was already digging through her duffel bag and retrieving various items.

"You do that; I'll order us something to drink and to snack on and pick a bed." Cleo grinned, already on their way to the phone.

"I'll take an ice cold white wine," False decided. "I won't be long." Cleo nodded, and False disappeared into the bathroom. It was a decently large suite, with a seating area with a tv and a dining table with room for two. The entire hotel was booked, with all servers looking to find sponsors for the new season. Xisuma had gotten lucky when he booked that there was a suite available at all.

The receptionist had a pleasant voice and took Cleo's order of a chilled bottle of white and a variety of charcuterie, put it on Mr Void's invoice. If Cleo was stuck here playing lust object for old white men, she was at least getting some decadent snacks out of it. The kitchen informed her they would bring it up to them within fifteen minutes, which would be just long enough for Cleo to choose the bed they wanted. Grabbing their suitcase, they walked over to the ensuite.

"Oh crap."

There was only one, king-sized bed.

Fuck! Xisuma had booked the room for himself and Keralis, of course they wouldn't want separate beds! No-one had thought of that when she and False had rushed to the event in their place this morning. Now what?

Cleo wasn't sure how long she had been standing in the doorway, but suddenly she heard False's voice behind her: "Claimed the nicest bed for yourself yet?"

"Uh. About that." Cleo stepped aside, trying not to stare at False as she entered the room clad only in an oversized tee.

"Oh." False bit her lip. "Guess this was booked for our lovebirds, huh?" She walked up to the bed and picked a rose petal off of the sheets.

"Yeah, but it's fine. I can sleep on the floor!" Cleo blurted out. They ran a hand through their hair. "I'm sure I can ask for a cot or an extra mattress or something. It's fine!" Her voice had gone up an entire octave as she spoke.

"Don't be ridiculous, Cleo." False turned to face her. "It's more than big enough for the both of us. I don't mind sharing." Suddenly, her voice got quieter. "... unless you do? Mind?"

"No, not at all!" Cleo really needed to get their volume and pitch under control. "We can-- yeah, we can share!" False yawned.

"Great. Then I vote for wine in bed, because I'm going to have to wear heels for at least five hours tomorrow as well as dance in them, and I want to get my feet up for as long as I possibly can in advance." A knock sounded at the door. Room service! "I'll go get the door so you can change. Just yell when you're ready, yeah?" Cleo nodded wordlessly.

As Cleo opened their suitcase, they cursed quietly. Out of all things she could have grabbed to wear to bed, why did it have to be an old tee and baggy shorts? She had blindly taken some things from her wardrobe this morning, and this is what she had ended up with. At least there weren't any holes in them, they supposed. Cleo quickly took off her suit and changed into her nightclothes. She replaced the bandage on her bite with a fresh clean one, and pulled her hair into a ponytail.

"Ready!" they yelled into the general direction of False when they had shoved their suitcase under the bed and had gathered the rose petals into a small pile on one of the nightstands. The blonde quickly reappeared in the bedroom, carefully carrying a tray with Cleo's order on it.

"Great choices," False commented as she placed the tray on the foot of the bed. "This looks amazing. Got a preference for a side?" She motioned at the bed.

"I prefer to be furthest from the windows," Cleo admitted. "Sunlight's not deadly, but it's not comfortable either."

"You got it!" False elegantly climbed into the far side of the bed, taking care not to kick their wine or snacks. Once Cleo had gotten in on the other side, False admitted: "I do feel bad for Xisuma and Keralis. This was supposed to be their date night, I guess."

"We'll have to make sure we enjoy it on their behalf then," Cleo replied without thinking. When they realised what they had just said, they stammered: "I mean, uh..." False smiled and handed her a glass of wine.

"I think I get what you mean. Cheers." As their glasses touched, False pressed a kiss to Cleo's cheek. "Out of all the Hermits I could be sharing a bed with right now, I'm happy it's you."

"Yeah..." Cleo fell quiet and quickly took a sip of their wine. False grabbed the remote control from her nightstand.

"Wanna watch some bad late-night TV?" Cleo breathed a sigh of relief.

"Sounds good to me." False smiled, and Cleo had to remind herself to breathe. As the noise of some random talkshow filled the room, False shifted closer to her so she could grab a piece of cheese. Their thighs touched, sending electricity down Cleo's spine. They tried to stay calm as False nestled herself against their side, her head resting against their chest. If she noticed how fast Cleo's heart was beating, she didn't say a thing.

"Glad it's you," False repeated, already beginning to sound sleepy.

"Me too," Cleo replied this time. "Me too."

[caxycreations]

Tylvinian Tales: The Wolf's Den

Chapter Fifteen: Security

Ferusian Law, Sixth Sequence, Article Four: Law of Work Equality Ferusian Employers are forbidden from hiring, or refusing to hire, based on the following: Sex, Gender, Biological Species, Species Identity, Divine Blessing, Economic Status, Religion, Age (with the exception of those under the Age of Employment Eligibility), or Immigration Status. Ferusian Employers found guilty of hiring, terminating employment, or rejecting employment solely based on these fields is punishable by no less than a fine equal to 40% of their annual income, up to a maximum punishment of 85% of their annual income in addition to 5-10 years imprisonment and the dissolving of all owned businesses. ***

I jolted at the sound of my alarm, feeling the body atop mine jolt in response. A soft whine filled the air as I smiled, rubbing his back with one hand and grabbing my phone with the other, turning off the alarm. David clung to me a little tighter and let out a dejected sigh. My eyes fell to his face, seeing him staring back at me with a sadness that tugged at my heart.

I kissed his nose and he pulled back a bit, scrunching his nose up at me, the corners of his mouth turning up as if to smile before turning to a pout. “Rye, do you really gotta get up now? Why’d you even set that dumb alarm?” His question was valid, he didn’t know I’d gotten the job or when the first shift was. I’d been so caught up in making sure all was well, and enjoying our time together, that I hadn’t told him.

I nodded, smiling at him. “Sad t’ say I do gotta get up, yeah. Got a job t’ get to. Kaleb’s got me startin’ work in ‘bout an hour. Gotta give myself time t’ get there, especially since I’m walkin’,” I said with a hint of frustration. After I broke the key, my truck had been towed and put in an impound. There wasn’t much I could do to get it home without the key, and it was a process to get it replaced. A simple one, but one I’d been too hospitalized to start on.

His eyes widened at my words and he smiled a little, nodding. “That’s great~! Trust me, he’s an ass but Kaleb doesn’t let his employees down when it comes to pay and benefits, you’re gonna love it,” he said with an almost practiced professionalism, even with his typical lilt, “and on top of that he never lets a place go understaffed, so you’ll always have plenty of help!”

I smiled, nodding and sitting up, David shifting to straddle my waist, sitting on my lap. I chuckled at his newfound habit of doing that, my hands finding his hips and resting on them as I kissed him, feeling warmth and light well up in my chest, a feeling I’d never had until giving up on fighting my feelings for this adorable little caxy. He let out a soft purr, his tail curling around us. I took hold of his tail gently, unwinding it from around us and shaking my head.

“Gotta get goin’, Davey. Ain’t got much time. Know what th’ dress code is up there? At th’ club we had your party at, for the security team?” I asked, wanting to dress as appropriately as possible to make the right impression. He hopped up, standing beside the couch and stretching as he hummed thoughtfully, his hum turning into a soft, comfortable moan from the stretch.

He shook his head. “I know they all wear those black shirts, but they’re company stuff...They all have the club logo on the back. Maybe you’ll have a uniform provided when you get there?” He suggested, heading for the kitchen. I nodded, standing up and stretching before making my way to the bedroom, grabbing a simple black tee shirt and a pair of khaki pants. In case I needed to order a uniform, I didn’t want to look like I wasn’t on-the-job my first night.

A quick five minute shower and a change of clothes later, I was ready as I’d ever be. I sprayed a bit of deodorant on before throwing on my shirt. If a fight broke out and I had to intervene I didn’t want the scent of sweat or blood, be it mine or theirs, to follow me all night. Another scent, familiar and pleasant, filled my nose. I followed the smell of sausage and pancakes, finding David cooking on all four burners.

I laughed, walking up behind him and wrapping my arms around him, my hands on his belly as I rubbed my nose against his neck, taking in his scent. He giggled and his hips started wiggling a little, swaying side to side and purring. “Made you breakfast big guy, knew you didn’t have a ton of time so I thought I’d use all the burners to cook more at once~!”

I nodded, smiling at him. “I see that, ya gonna have any for yourself?” I asked. He nodded, pointing to a plate off to the side. It had a few sausage links and a couple of sausage patties as well as a stack of three mid-sized pancakes. Meanwhile, in the skillets he was cooking with lay nearly a dozen or more sausage links, half as many sausage patties, and four full-size flapjacks.

“I’ve been munching on the first batch. And don’t worry about the dishes, they’ll be done by the time you get home big guy. Oh, can you stop by a Speed-Mart on the way home? You’re out of milk. I kinda needed the last of it for your pancakes, sorry…” he trailed off, looking at me apologetically. I chuckled, nodding as I grabbed a plate and held it out towards him.

He smiled, scooping food onto my plate now. I shrugged at him and shook my head. “Ain’t no trouble, Davey. Can grab a couple jugs on th’ way home in th’ mornin’. Anythin’ else ya want me t’ grab?” I asked before tearing into my food, not wanting to spend too long not walking to work. Even at my running pace, it would still take me fifteen minutes or more to get there.

He shook his head, turning to disable the burners. “No thanks, I’ve got plenty at home and it’s your kitchen anyway, so...Just get what you think you need, okay?” He replied, starting to hum softly. I recognized the tune, it was one my mom used to sing to us when we were little, when he would stay over for a few nights at a time to get away from home. In hindsight, not much has changed since then, except now I’m the one tucking us into bed at night.

I ate quickly, putting the plate in the sink and grabbing David by the waist. The caxy let out a surprised ‘Mrow!’ and looked at me in surprise, only to relax and purr as I kissed him and let him go. “I’ll be back ‘round six in th’ mornin’. Gonna be alright ‘til then, Davey?” I asked with a smile, tail wagging a little behind me.

He gave a nod and smiled, his own tail moving to shift around, curling around mine, making my own wag more at the affection. “Yeah, I’ll be alright big guy. You be safe for me okay? Don’t let anyone irritate those stitches…” He said, worry filling his voice. I gave him another quick kiss and nodded, heading for the door. I could feel his tail snaking around mine, slowly separating as I moved away. I shut the door behind me, smiling softly at the world around me. Just like on the docks, the colors of the world were vibrant, surreal, and all I could feel in the air was warmth.

***

I made it to the club just a minute before my shift was scheduled to start and, on explaining I was the new hire for the security team, I was led to a break room with a few other workers in it. I looked around, taking in their faces, their actions, what they were wearing. I was glad I’d chosen the khaki pants, everyone else was wearing the same. The black shirts matched too, save for the business logo on the backs of theirs, as opposed to my plain-color tee.

There were three other workers in the break room, and the head of security that had led me back there. A short, but bulky-looking doberman stood at the far end of the room, sipping coffee calmly. The name-tag read ‘Ben’. A few feet to my left and a little ahead of me, a chimp held conversation with a tiger. The chimp was clean-cut, their fur neatly trimmed and their tail was curled around their waist like a belt, even having been put through the belt loops. I couldn’t get a read on the tag, they were facing away from me.

The tiger on the other hand was all-too-easy to see. He was almost as tall as I was, barely six inches shorter if he was any shorter at all, and had the kind of body you’d expect from a life-long lumber worker. Every inch of him radiated power, but his face looked as gentle as David’s. I could see it in his eyes, all of that power was built to protect. I got the feeling, judging by his scent and his look, we’d get along well. His name tag read ‘Garret’.

The head of security, the one who’d led me here, was a monitor lizard, but he couldn’t have been pure-blood. His scales had a thicker quality, more like armor plating than what was typical for his kind. No doubt he was part armored lizard, or maybe dragon. His eyes were piercing, intimidating, not unlike Kaleb’s, if less intense. His name tag read ‘Tomas’. He stepped into the middle of the room and let out a low, clear hiss. The chimp stopped talking, and the rest of the crew stepped closer.

The monitor held a hand towards me, a gesture calling to the others to look, rather than an invitation to act or speak. “This is Ryder Trayson, he’s our new hire. He’s replacing Dalton for the foreseeable future.” He said, his voice hollow, like Kaleb’s, but with none of the emptiness, none of the apathy. The rest of the group waved or nodded, and I finally got a look at the chimp’s face. She was pretty, the fur and hair that had been so neatly kept from behind suited her, and her eyes were the same blue as David’s. Her name tag read ‘Lana’.

She was the first to greet me properly, stepping up and offering a handshake. I took her hand, shaking it, careful not to squeeze too hard, still hesitant to use much of my strength after the events of the last week. “Scared to hurt me Mister Big? C’mon, gimme a real shake!” She said with a grin, squeezing my hand firmly. So firmly it hurt. I looked at her, trying to suppress my surprise, and squeezed back as hard as she had.

She grinned wider, giving one quick nod before letting go. “There ya go, don’t go easy on me just cause I look like you could fold me like fresh laundry! Born under Gaius, takes a lot more than a squeeze to break us.” She declared, gesturing to the others. I furrowed my brow, looking around. Were they all born under-

The thought was interrupted by the head of security speaking up. “You’re thinking right now, ‘Are they all born in the same month as me’, yeah? Well, congrats, you’re the millionth guy to come through here and have that thought. Your prize is that I won’t make fun of you for not realizing how selective Kaleb is with his security.” He said with a smirk. I looked around, raising an eyebrow.

“So every last one’a y’all has somethin’ from Gaius?” I asked, a little incredulous at the prospect of Kaleb hiring exclusively Gaian-Blessed for his security. It was against employment laws, and reminded me of just why I hated the snake so much. He didn’t care about anything except what was most beneficial to him. It was no joke to be Gaian-Blessed. We were stronger, faster, had some kind of elemental affinity.

I was always at my strongest, Trace could manipulate the air itself, and the Gaian-Blessed I’d known in school were always star athletes. It made us well-suited to work like this, but Kaleb had to have known better than to have an all Gaian-Blessed security team. It was clear they were used to this, none of them batting an eye at my question. The tiger answered quickest. “It’s not as bad as it seems. Just lucked out that way. I applied in the first place because I was Gaian-Blessed, knew it’d be easy pay. Didn’t feel like slaving away at a job I’d hate, and this one’s easy enough. Look big and scary and most people won’t give any problems.” He said with a smile. I could hear the gentleness in his voice. I was right, he wasn’t nearly as mean as his posture suggested.

The doberman nodded, shrugging. “I wound up here cause of a demotion. Was workin’ the bar, but Merissa shows up, outdoes me as an apprentice, Kaleb said if all I was gonna do was look pissed off, scarin’ away customers, I may as well be working a job that actually pays to do it. Pays, but not near as well as tips when I was working the bar…”

I had to stifle a laugh at that. Merissa was always complaining that tips didn’t cover her rent, and she was glad her paychecks were more than enough. Made me wonder if maybe people just preferred the handsome doberman over Merissa’s brand of beauty. I looked over to the chimp and the head of security, wondering if they’d share their stories too.

The chimp laughed, nodding. “There it is, finally wondered about me, huh? Well, my story’s not so fancy or personal. I wanted to work here, loved the music. Simple as that. Had some security experience before, made a good impression, here I am.” She said with a beaming smile. I could tell she was the kind of person who knew exactly who she was and reveled in it. It was nice, seeing others like that. Lana, Garret, they both seemed like my kind of people.

“I’ll finish the introductions with my own story then. My cousin was the former head of security here, he got me a job assisting the doorman, and I’ve earned my way to the position through effort, not birth status. Are we all caught up? Can we move on to our positions for tonight?” He asked, clearly tired of the socializing. I couldn’t blame him. It was work, our shifts officially started in a little over thirty minutes. I had no doubt he wanted to take the time to get everyone ready.

The group put their attention to him, the room going silent save for the sound of Ben drinking his coffee now and then. Tomas nodded gratefully and took a breath. “We’ve got another birthday party tonight, and there’s been a special request. Lana, you’ll be working the door tonight. You’ll be looking for minors trying to sneak in, as usual, but you’re also going to be on the lookout for four potential malcontents. I’ve got the list in my office, please remember to come by to collect it before punching in.”

She nodded, the cheer and friendliness of her face melting away. She looked cold, emotionless. It was the kind of look fitting of her position, but incredibly unfitting for the bright and happy person I’d seen less than a minute ago. Tomas looked over to Ben, his focus shifting from Lana to address the next position. “Ben, you’ll be manning the dance floor. I want you on the upstairs balcony, eye in the sky. Got it?”

The doberman nodded, his dejected and bored look gone. He’d adopted the same kind of look Lana had, fierce and intimidating, like he’d rip a man’s arm off just because he felt like it, but only if you asked him to so he’d have the justification. I smiled a little, glad to at least be working with professionals. People I knew would be reliable about doing their jobs. Tomas looked to Garret last, locking his stare on the tiger.

���Garret, you’ll be the ground man. I want you on the floor, comms on. Tune to Ben’s channel. Keep each other in the loop and don’t let anything go unchecked.” He ordered. Garret nodded once, quick and attentive. All that was left was to give me my orders, and we’d likely be told what the big deal was with this birthday party that required this kind of strategy and dispersal.

“Ryder, you’ll be on the ground with Garret. Anything you’re not sure of, ask him and he’ll run you through the process. But Kaleb wants to see you in his office before you get started. I’ll lead you there, then you’re on your own. Understood?” He asked, almost softly for his commanding hiss of a voice.

I nodded. “Yes, Sir.” I said plainly. He nodded back, looking to the other three. They had gone back to socializing, chatting with one another. I half expected him to yell at them, to play the role of drill sergeant. The way they’d all snapped to attention had given a militaristic impression, but here they seemed as lax as any other business’ employees might be. Tomas let out another hiss, catching their attention again.

“Tonight’s not much different than any other birthday, you all know the drill. Garret, keep an eye on Ryder, make sure he learns his job properly. Before you all clock in, keep in mind, the birthday guest is turning twenty, not twenty-one, so if Merissa calls for security, make sure he is aware in no uncertain terms that we can not serve him alcohol.”

The group nodded again, finally dispersing. I checked the clock, twenty-eight minutes until shift start. Tomas gestured towards a door at the back of the break room and lead me through it. Down a hall and through another door, we found a stairway leading up to another door, this one with a sign on it reading ‘K. Killian’ in the form of a gold-plated plaque.

Tomas gestured to it. “Head in, you’re the only one he’s seeing tonight so no need to make him wait. Best if you don’t, he’d kill for less.” He said, in a less-than-joking way. Somehow I didn’t doubt the truth in those words. He walked away and I was left outside Kaleb’s office, alone. I knocked on the door, hearing a very dry, empty voice invite me in afterwards. I took a breath and opened the door.

Where I had expected some dark, gothic aesthetic, maybe with a skull or two hanging from the wall, I was instead met with a simple room with a gray carpet, a wooden desk, several filing cabinets, storage shelves, and two large sets of drawers in the corners. Kaleb sat at the desk, a laptop open in front of him, typing rapidly as I approached.

He looked up at me, his fingers never slowing. “Mr. Trayson, I will make this as brief as possible as I am aware you dislike speaking with me and you must clock in soon. What do you know of Jonas, the man you brutally assaulted in my cafe recently?” He asked, still typing on the laptop. The constant clicking of the keys was beginning to irritate me. Or it was just him.

“I know he’s an ass. Deserved what he got. An’ he’s th’ reason ya hired me here. He was givin’ Davey hell all th’ time an’ I know he quit over what I done.” I answered, crossing my arms. He nodded, looking me over as if seeking a crack in the armor, a weak spot in my posture. Like he was trying to find where I was most vulnerable.

“Did you also know that he was involved in the group of criminals known as The Kings?” he asked, eyes locking onto mine. I felt that same chill as before run up my spine, felt my muscles seize. I was locked in place. It was infuriating, but I couldn’t bring myself to break free. That took anger. And anger was something I’d had enough of lately. I swallowed my pride, shaking my head, resigned to being his captive until he was done.

He looked back to his laptop, breaking his spell over me. “He is nothing to them, comic relief so to speak. But you injured the court jester, and now the king will be looking for retribution. Specifically, retribution against any Jonas claims were involved. That, in case you are unaware, means you and your mate.” He stated matter-of-factly, as if I wasn’t already well aware.

I growled, uncrossing my arms. “Ya said ya’d protect David. An’ with money like yours, that shouldn’t be no problem.” I said with a sneer. Kaleb just nodded, waving a hand at me before returning to his typing. I hated it, his disregard for my words, his complete apathy. He couldn’t even be bothered to stop typing on his damn laptop.

“Yes, and he is safe, and will remain as such. But you will have a part to play in his protection as well. I understand you will not harm in my name. But I assume you have no qualms about doing so for your mate,” He said pointedly, “given you have already killed for him.”

I stepped forward, grabbing the edge of his desk. My emotions were getting out of control. I knew that. I didn’t care. I dug my fingers into the wood, feeling it splinter beneath the force. “Don’t you bring that up ever again.” I snarled. Kaleb simply sighed, looked up at me, eyes locking on mine. I didn’t feel a thing, and I never broke his stare.

He stood up, looking down at where my fingers dug into his desk. “Mr. Trayson, I understand you are an emotional individual, but do contain yourself in my office. The wood did not anger you, and were you to try doing the same to me you would find yourself quite lacking in fingers before you had the chance.” He warned.

I huffed, letting go of his desk and crossing my arms again, more to keep out of trouble than anything else. Kaleb planted his hands on his desk and leaned forward, looking at me. “I am going to send you home in the morning with a mission and a card. There will be an address on that card. Tomorrow evening, be at that address at precisely nine-thirty. That’s at night, of course. You’ll find two men at that address. Deal with them as you will, but they’d best not wake from the sleep you deliver them. I’m sure you’ll find more than enough reason when you arrive.”

I glared at him. I’d already told him I wouldn’t do anything illegal. That I wouldn’t hurt anyone for him. “And if’n I don’t? If’n I jus’ stay home an’ spend time with David?” I asked, trying hard to suppress the growl in my voice. I swear I could see him smiling. “Then, Mr. Trayson, you may not have a David to wake up to the next morning. These men are planning to kidnap him and deliver him to Jonas. One of them will be quite familiar to you. After all, you did send him off with a message.” He said with an implicating tone. He was painting this as my fault.

“You-” I started to shout, only to be cut off, Kaleb’s hand going up to silence me. I wasn’t sure what pissed me off more. The fact he did it, trying to shut me up with a disrespectful move like that… Or that fact that it worked, and I felt my voice give out. His eyes locked on mine again. Whatever power he had in those eyes was starting to really piss me off.

A knock at the door broke me from the spell and I turned my head towards it. Kaleb sighed and I looked back at him. “Come in, Tomas.”

Tomas came in, gesturing downstairs, out of Kaleb’s office. “Everyone’s clocking in, Sir. I need to show Ryder how to use the system.” He said softly, meekly, not commanding like he’d been back in the break room. Did Kaleb have this effect on everyone? “Very well. Mr. Trayson, it was wonderful speaking with you. Please, come by again when your shift is over. I will have your sign-on bonus ready.” He said, a warning look cast my way. I nodded, trying not to growl. The last thing I needed was my boss knowing how badly I wanted to throw the guy signing our paychecks through the wall… And the wall after that.

I followed Tomas back down the stairs and into the break room, this time passing through a door to the side leading into another hallway. Tomas was silent the entire way, until we reached the end. A machine was mounted to the wall, with a touch-screen and a card-scanner, similar to what most stores use for debit cards.

Tomas tapped the screen, putting in a code and stepping aside. “It’s in Registration Mode. Scan your ID in the reader and it’ll add you to the system, then I can assign you. Pay’s based on role for the night. Doorman makes Leisure plus seventy percent, Floor makes Luxury plus seventy percent, Sky box makes Leisure plus ninety percent.”

I nodded, pulling out my ID and scanning it into the machine, hearing an affirmative beep as I did. “Why th’ different pay rates?” I asked, wondering how often I’d get saddled with one of the Leisure jobs, and whether or not it’d be worth the trouble Kaleb was going to make this for me. Especially if he planned on using me for his dirty work. If I even let him.

Tomas shook his head and sighed. “Kaleb likes paying for the service and how much of your skills are actually being used. Door and Sky box don’t do much, so Leisure, but they can get dicey, so he pays extra. Floor’s where the real money is, and he’s insisted you take floor tonight. Guess he wants to see how you do.”

I scoffed. “That or he wants t’ see how much fight I got in me if’n somethin’ goes wrong.” I said bitterly. I half-expected Tomas to jump to Kaleb’s defense, but the old lizard just nodded as he tapped a few buttons on the machine’s screen. He stepped back again and nodded towards it, making a swiping motion. I checked the screen and saw it was showing a large clock face with the current time both depicted in analogue on the clock and digitally in numbers below the face. I scanned my ID again and the machine let out a small shutter noise and the display changed, reading in big bold letters ‘RYDER TRAYSON – 6:02PM’ across the screen. Tomas leaned over, tapping the screen a few more times. I watched him assign me to the Main Floor. He finished up and held a hand out towards the door a few feet away from us, inviting me to go through.

On the other side of the door was the dance hall. The music was much louder once we opened the door, and I wondered what kind of insulation they had going to muffle it so strongly. Suddenly I was home, bass beating so deeply I could feel it in my blood, the cheers from the crowd welcoming me into my happy place.

A quick rundown of my route for the night and what to do if anything happened, and a lesson on the provided comms, and I was set loose. I just had to hope I could go twelve hours in the club without needing to use the force Kaleb probably hoped to see from me tonight.